


power play

by sweatpantstomlinson



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (which is explained further in notes), Alternate Universe - Hockey, BUT OH MY GOD ITS DONE HOLY WOW, LOADS of hockey scenes so if you don't like hockey you won't like this i'm sorry, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, alcohol (the party-fun kind but a lot of it), closeting/homophobia, rec drug use (mild but some of it), some light dom/sub overtones (VERY mild let me tell you)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 12:01:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11035794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweatpantstomlinson/pseuds/sweatpantstomlinson
Summary: Louis and Liam play for rival professional hockey teams, but somewhere between the constant travel, grueling workouts and endless laps on the ice, they fell for each other. Only issue? No one knows they’re together...or even that they’re gay.After the first playoff game - where Louis’ team is knocked out and Liam’s team is the frontrunner to win the Stanley Cup - things get complicated.Featuring: bro-y bros having feelings, plenty of emotional hockey scenes (but only one fight), dumbass romantic dinners, did I mention feelings, other bros being bro-y with bros in a very bro way, lots of shower sex, but did I mention the feelings, Niall puking, a pinch of angst and a handful of floof and FEELINGS.





	power play

**Author's Note:**

> OH. MY. GOD. I can't believe this is done. I can't believe I've been working on this for two years (kill me), but I can't wait to have everyone read it. Also, how fitting is it that this is going up the first day of the Stanley Cup finals? Don't talk to me, it's perfect.
> 
> Incredible, huge, over-the-top thanks to my brilliant artist - you have put up with so much and I can't wait to see your finished piece! Also a million thank you's to the amazing mods who have done such a great job of putting this all together. 
> 
> As for the dom/sub stuff, it's very blink-and-you'll-miss-it and extremely light. I tagged dubious consent just because they don't have an explicit conversation about it before they're in the moment, but they always ask for consent each time. If you need any more clarification, please feel free to message me on Tumblr and I can explain in full. 
> 
> PS This was originally written as a gift for fannyann (all those years ago...), I hope you enjoy this, even if it's not Lirry.

Louis is always the last to leave the locker room after a loss.  
Wins are different, of course – he usually has the club picked out and half a dozen models texted by the time he gets through the showers and suit ups – but losses…no, he takes his time then. As if by stalling, rearranging his locker, holding his sweaty jersey a little longer, he could go back and change everything.  
But, he can’t. They are officially out of the playoffs. First round.  
He sucks a deep breath in and sits on the center bench of the deserted room. Everyone else had filed out fairly quickly, given their interviews, talked half-heartedly about next year, and took off. Malik had lingered for an extra second, pausing in the hall and saying, “You know, you’re on the first year of your contract…you’re gonna grow a lot, Tommo. The team’s gonna grow a lot. Don’t let this knock you back.” Louis hadn’t even looked up; he just nodded, staring resolutely at the roll of electrical tape clutched in his hands. He hadn’t heard Malik leave but when he finally glanced at the door, his other defenseman was gone.  
But now, it’s finally time to leave. He drags himself off his seat and meanders to his car, praying he doesn’t run into any drunk, angry fans on his way. It only takes him a matter of time to navigate through the Boston streets and just out of the city. (He made sure to rent a loft close enough that he could party without much of a hassle, but leave the bustle whenever he needed.) As he heaves himself out of his car (fuck, he can still FEEL that seven foot tall asshole’s elbow digging into his back during that penalty kill), he sees a shadowed figure sitting on his stoop.  
Clutching his wallet and phone tight in one hand, he approaches, wary of stalkers and haters and all sorts of nefarious characters who somehow got their hands on his address. But, then the person steps into the streetlight and…Louis isn’t much relieved.  
“Hey,” he deadpans, pushing past the guy and slotting the key into the lock.  
Without another word, he unlocks the back door and calls the elevator.  
“Do you…wanna talk about it?” comes a voice from slightly behind him.  
“Not particularly.”  
There’s another pregnant pause as they wait for the elevator to reach them and Louis doesn’t make eye contact as they both shuffle in and Louis hits the button for the penthouse.  
Less than a minute later, he’s dropping his bag two steps inside the door and flopping face-first onto his couch. Oh, how he loves this couch…he bought the fluffiest and coziest one he could find specifically for nights like this. His body sinks into it and he feels the ghost of knuckles tracing down his spine.  
“You want some tea?”  
“I want a fucking win.”  
“Alright then…well, I’m going to make tea.”  
Louis rolls his eyes (even though they’re closed) and listens to the sounds of shuffling through the kitchen, of his hyper-expensive-but-boils-in-under-a-minute electric kettle being clicked on, of mugs being set on his countertop. After a deep sigh, he rolls onto his back and peers over the top of the couch.  
“Why are you even here, anyway?”  
“I wanted to come up and see the game.”  
“Scout, you mean.”  
“It’s hard to turn that part of my brain off, I guess. But I also wanted to see you play.”  
Louis scoffs and flops back so he can’t see the broad doofus making him tea in his kitchen.  
“What I _meant_ , was why are you _here_. As in, my apartment.”  
“You didn’t pick up your phone, otherwise I would have asked. I thought you’d like company.”  
Louis snorts again, but he can’t lie to himself – he’s not sure how drunk he could have gotten alone before falling asleep, but he would have tried quite hard.  
“Well, we’ve got to be careful. The last thing either of us want is the press getting wind of this.”  
“So, what, you want me to throw on a blonde curly wig next time?”  
And then he’s perched on the end of the couch, his glowing smile dimming for a second as he slurps a bit of tea. Liam Payne, all-star center and captain of the New York Rangers. Currently leading the division for goals and second for assists. And, unbeknownst to the entire hockey community, Louis Tomlinson’s…well. Louis isn’t sure what they are.  
Liam slides the second mug of tea down the coffee table and Louis reaches for it. He stirs it, sniffs it, and sips it. Made just to his liking, though he has no idea how Liam managed it.  
“Thanks,” he mutters.  
“Of course,” Liam replies, too much care in his eyes. He reaches out a hand and pats Louis’ socked foot. “Anything else I can do?”  
“No, no, don’t worry…I was just gonna soak for a bit and then sleep.”  
“Want company?”  
Louis smiles a small smile and gives the slightest of nods. Liam follows him into his sprawling bathroom and lazily strips as Louis begins filling his gigantic Jacuzzi tub with steaming water. Liam’s naked by the time Louis starts unbuttoning his shirt and Liam grins and brushes Louis’ hands away, undoing the buttons one by one. Louis rolls his eyes and sighs.  
“Taking your sweet time there, Payno.”  
“You’ve done enough work. Ease up.”  
Well, he’s correct there.  
Louis accepts the help as Liam eases him out of his dress shirt and pants, Louis hissing occasionally as one of them bumps the many bruises beginning to purple his skin. Liam hums comfortingly under his breath and steadies Louis’ hip with a firm hand. Louis peels off his boxers himself, at least, and sits down in the tub with a splash. Liam bites his lip and tentatively climbs in opposite Louis, rearranging his limbs so Louis has the most real estate. It’s impressive, especially considering Liam has several inches on Louis. (Which Louis works very hard at never, ever considering.)  
The hot water does the trick, Louis’ muscles slowly relaxing. He leans his head back, resting it on the edge of the tub. He barely realizes Liam shifting, pulling Louis’ right foot into his lap and beginning to knead it with his fingers. Louis can’t help himself – he sighs deep in relief. Even though his skates feel more comfortable than most shoes he owns, his feet can only take so much.  
“Feel okay?”  
“Feels _fantastic_ , thanks Li.”  
“No problem.”  
There’s silence for a few minutes, just the sounds of the water splashing as Liam eventually sets Louis’ right foot back and tugs over his left.  
It’s just as Liam’s sure thumbs press into Louis’ arch that he stiffens.  
“This alright? I hit something?”  
Louis shoots an eye open.  
“What…what are we doing?”  
Liam giggles a bit.  
“Uh, we’re in the bath, Lou…”  
“No no no, I mean…us. What is this. What’s happening.” He can’t believe the words are tumbling out of his mouth, but hey, there it is. A season’s worth of locker room blowjobs and bar bathroom quickies between them, and they’re finally discussing their feelings. On the eve of one of the worst games of Louis’ career. Lovely.  
“Uhm…” Liam glances back at Louis, eyes wide. “I don’t know, really. I just…do you…want to stop this?”  
“No! I mean, no, I just…I don’t know. Like I said, with press…and stuff…it’s very tricky.”  
Louis’ not even sure what he’s saying anymore. Worst of all, Liam’s stopped the foot massage.  
“Well, alright, what kind of relationship exactly are you looking for, Louis?”  
Louis can’t help himself – he needs fondling if he’s to get through this kind of conversation. He twists his heel in Liam’s hands and Liam goes back to pressing into his sole, smile playing at his lips as he does.  
“Not a relationship, I guess—“  
“Is this – are we…not exclusive then?”  
Louis pulls his wet hands out of the water and rubs his face.  
Liam coughs, then continues.  
“I mean…I haven’t slept with anyone since we started this. But…if you feel differently…”  
“I haven’t either.” Louis’ voice is a bit muffled through his palms, but he says it. “I don’t want to.”  
“Oh! Well…um…great, I guess?”  
There’s another long pause. Louis thinks to himself that this should probably be a lot happier of an occasion. He’s not sure he remembers how to do happiness.  
“Not to shove the issue but…are we, properly together then? Like can I tell my mom?”  
Louis chuckles to himself, pulling his hands away and wiping the droplets off his forehead with his shoulder.  
“Of course you can tell your fucking mother, I’m not going to stop you.”  
“Well, then the question is…who aren’t we telling?”  
Louis inhales sharply and glances back at Liam. He’s stilled with the foot in his lap again and looks grave.  
That’s the question of the century, isn’t it. Telling your mom is a lot different than telling the National Hockey League.  
“I…I’m sorry. I’m not…I can’t.”  
Liam shrugs as if Louis was turning him down for dinner.  
“No problem, then. I’d just tell her and a pal or two from home, if that’s okay. I don’t have to name you, if that makes you feel more comfortable.”  
Louis nods, mind still a bit blank.  
“Yeah that would…that’d help. Thanks.”  
Liam shrugs again, bending back to the foot at hand.  
They stay there for another twenty minutes, until they’re both pruney and the water’s gone lukewarm. Louis hauls himself out and strolls across the bathroom to grab them towels but Liam beats him there, turning with Louis’ largest and fluffiest to wipe them both down. Louis smiles a bit as Liam strokes down his back, their chests practically touching. They don’t even bother getting dressed; both of them climb into Louis’ bed naked and still a bit sweaty from all the steam. Liam doesn’t make any sort of move and Louis’ grateful – usually he’s all for an orgasm to twist him out of a loss, but when it’s season-ending, nothing quite feels right.  
Louis curls on his side of the bed, staring down his clock that declares the obscene hour of night/morning it is. He has no practice to get up for in the morning – the first time in months – and can’t believe he can sleep without an alarm. Just as his eyes drift shut, he feels Liam’s strong arm snake around his waist and tug him closer. He feels the print of a kiss at the base of his neck and fuck, if that’s not the first time all day he feels like he’s doing something right.

The next morning – or, afternoon, technically – Louis wakes up to an empty bed and a note. He chuckles to himself as he sees it perched on his nightstand, folded neatly in half with “Tommo” written across the front, as if he wouldn’t know to read it. Who still leaves notes anyway?  
Louis smiles as he reads it over:  
_Had fun last night, sorry I can’t stay and make you breakfast – long ride back to NY.  
I know you might be done with hockey, but there are always a couple extra box seats for you. Just don’t bring your other boyfriend ;)  
Xxx, Li_  
Louis folds it back and creases the line. So, that’s that then. Lost his chance at the Cup, gained a – his mind stutters over the word – boyfriend. He’s not sure how he feels about that. Liam and him had become exclusive, something Louis was more than willing to do; he wasn’t lying about not wanting to sleep with anyone else. But jumping immediately from that to notes and labels gives him a bit of vertigo.  
On top of that, there’s hockey. Liam’s continued season. Louis wants so badly to bounce back, to be able to waltz into the Rangers stadium and watch his – cough, deep breath – _boyfriend_ play like it’s no big deal. But…he can’t go back, just like that. His whole life he’s lived and breathed hockey, but…he just can’t do this one. Especially not when the Rangers are up 3-1 in the series. Louis does his best to be a good person, but he can’t celebrate with Liam on this one. Not now.  
It takes him a full ten minutes to construct a text, doing his best to be casual.  
_hey, can’t make it out tomorrow for the game, hope all goes well._  
At the last minute, he tacks a kissy face on the end.

Louis spends the whole day in bed, more or less. Around three, Malik texts him – just a zoomed-in photo of a massive green nug. They forgo weed during the season, but now…  
Three texts and a half hour later, Malik’s lighting up his piece in Louis’ living room. He inhales deeply, and passes the pipe off to Louis who takes an equally long hit. They both percolate for a second, then breathe out plumes of smoke in tandem.  
“Good shit, man,” Louis says, coughing a bit into his hand.  
Malik just nods and accepts his pipe back, his lighter flicking again.  
“Were you gonna watch the New York game tonight?” Louis doesn’t realize it’s been on his mind all day until the question leaves his mouth.  
Malik considers, blowing a couple smoke rings.  
“I guess. Wasn’t gonna go out, though.”  
“No, yeah yeah yeah, I was just gonna stay here…order in, drink a bit, you know.”  
Malik nods and clicks his lighter again.  
“You care if Perrie comes? She has a couple friends she could bring, too?” Malik’s eyebrows raise a bit and Louis shrugs. For all the team knows, he’s a big ol’ hetero, drowning in pussy. He can’t remember the last time he slept with a girl, let alone the last time sober.  
“Might text Horan then, make it a regular shindig.”  
Malik sticks his bottom lip out, nods, and takes another hit. It’s the most you can get out of him on a good day.

It’s barely a party at all, if Louis is being honest with himself. (Then again, his idea of parties are usually three-story club takeovers with bar tabs higher than most countries’ gross incomes.) It’s just him, left wing Horan, Malik, Malik’s girlfriend Perrie, and a few of her hot dancer friends. They’re all a good time, make great conversation, and brought food from all over the city, so Louis’ happy, he supposes. All the girls are trying very hard, at least, while him and Horan and Malik sit in a row on the couch, each zoning off every so often as their post-season realities hit them.  
Louis’ television is practically the size of a wall – his house was the favorite to come watch game tape – and the pregame buzzes in the background. Louis can’t help himself – he keeps breaking eye contact to glance at the screen, to see if they’re talking about Liam (of course they are) and what they’re saying (alright things, considering that commentators never bring themselves to actually sing any praises. Louis would know.).  
He and Malik had stashed the weed before the girls got there, but after a few minutes of bustling and giggles, Horan pinches Louis’ knee and says, “You got anything to take this edge off?” Soon, they’re all on Louis’ balcony, Malik packing another bowl.  
When they all wander back in, red-rimmed eyes and smokey musk about them, Perrie and her friends just smile a bit and ask if they want wings or potato skins.  
Both. They’d all like both.  
It’s just as Louis sits down with a loaded plate that the puck drops and shit, he forgot what _watching_ a game was like. He’s watched his own film hundreds of times, knows how to zero in on himself, how to bit his lip and wonder how he misses those clears and checks, all blaring at him in technicolor. He’s watched plenty of film to scout, too – how to work out matchups, see the patterns in every player, brain whirring with how to exploit each habit. But just watching to…watch? It’s been a while.  
Luckily, Horan and Malik are fairly into the game and Perrie’s crew are vocal, to say the least. (It’s when one of the girls leans over to Louis to ask if he wants more French fries that he smells all the peach schnapps…apparently the boys weren’t the only ones heavily pregaming.)  
Louis lives through the first period with his heart in his throat. Liam’s playing good – lots of aggressive opportunities, no stupid penalties, keeping his team in line. Louis admires that in a captain. Well, Louis admires it in Liam.  
The first period ends with both teams still being 0-0 and Louis moves to get up, only to have his empty plate and beer bottle claimed and then replaced with full ones. He murmurs his thanks, forcing a smile to the two girls and then shoots a look at Malik, eyebrows raised. Malik just shrugs. Typical.  
Second period gets a bit more exciting. About halfway through, Liam’s right wing – enigmatic kid, last name Styles – gets called on some shit tripping penalty and starts mouthing off to the ref. Liam’s there in a heartbeat, pushing on the guy’s chest and edging him toward the box.  
“Fucker! He fell! What shit, what shit…” Louis takes another long swig of his beer and looks over to his Horan and Malik eyeing him. “What?”  
“When did you become a Rangers fan, Tommo?” Horan asks, mouth full.  
“What? I - I’m not. Just a stupid call, y’know? Hate that.” This answer, apparently, passes.  
But, Louis’ palms are sweating now. Liam’s known as one of the best penalty killers in the game right now. They can do it, Louis’ sure. At least, sort of sure.  
There’s a flurry initially, the other team barreling through their defense, making them frantic.  
_Calm your men, Payne, focus…focus…_ Louis thinks, doing his best attempt at telekinesis. Sure enough, the men tighten, a bunch of quick blocks and a clear and they’re into the second minute. Louis sets his plate on the table with a clang and wipes his hands on his jeans. _Easy, easy…_  
During the clear, there’s a line switch that puts Liam back on the bench, but Louis’ still nervous. He can’t bear to see the look on Li’s face if they get this one, all off a ridiculous trip charge.  
But, through three more shots on goal and one very dangerous pass across the middle, they manage it. The stadium rages as all five players take the ice again, Styles’ curls flowing out the back of his helmet.  
After that scare, they all seem more connected, somehow. (Louis wishes his team had that – all it takes for them is one bad call and their whole group crumbles.) Passes are quicker and he can see them talking more chances up the middle, more cuts into the crease.  
Then, in the last two minutes, there’s a turnover center ice and suddenly it’s Liam and Styles on a breakaway, up against just one defender. Liam does some outrageously quick stick-work and flicks it over to Styles who pops it just above the goalie’s right shoulder. The entire stadium erupts and Louis leaps up, punching the air with the fist that isn’t clutching his beer.  
“Damn straight! Did you see that? Perfect communication, just amazing, shit…” He scans the room to see everyone with pursed lips. “…what? It was a good play.”  
Malik just shakes his head and Horan bursts out laughing. Louis lowers himself back to the couch and lets Horan pat his knee.  
“Like I said…proper Ranger supporter, right here.”  
Louis shoves him off and huffs, resigned to watch the rest of the period calmly. The next two minutes are a flush of attacks, with the Rangers barely able to get it out of the zone. Louis fails. Magnificently. But, they manage to hold it off again, filing into the locker room as the announcers take over.  
This time, Louis emphatically stands up and strides into the kitchen. He hadn’t realized all the girls had congregated there until they all stopped talking abruptly to peer at him. He just gave a little nod and reached into the cabinet for a glass. If he was going to survive the third period, he needed liquor.  
“Want to do shots with us, Tommo?”  
Louis glances up to see the four of them all posed around a bottle of Grey Goose and he figures, fuck it.

It’s truly shocking how drunk he can get in fifteen minutes if he really wants to.  
Grey Goose goes down almost _too_ smoothly, it makes him susceptive…er, no, that’s the wrong word…suspicious. He’s suspicious. He’s suspicious about that and also about how he now has a girl on either side of him. Malik moved over to the armchair and Perrie’s curled in his lap and they’re both smiling like goons at each other, he can’t believe…but then, Horan’s just on the other side of one of the girls, so it’s the same amount of people here, right? It feels so much more crowded. He takes another gulp of his drink. Drinking will help, he thinks. It’s gotta.  
He blinks his eyes into focus on the screen to see that he missed the very beginning of the period – too busy talking to Jade and Jesy, though if you pressed him he wouldn’t be able to tell you who was who – but thank God, thank God thank God, the score is still the same. He squints and panics for a second that he can’t find Liam before remembering he’s second line. First line aggressive, second line smart. Liam’s coach’s motto. Louis thinks Liam is both – plus cute, he’s really cute actually – but he’s not about to correct a coach.  
Louis continues gulping his drink through the next few minutes and at one point he’s pretty sure he puts it down empty and picks it up full. As the game clock ticks down to the last ten minutes of regulation, he can’t help feeling that Liam needs to...amp everybody. Do something. They’re playing _well_ , just not…hard. He sniffs and wonders if he should say this out loud, but then, Malik replies.  
“You’re right, dude, they’re playing flat.”  
Louis claps a hand over his mouth and bites his tongue. He needs to get better at this filter thing.  
He shakes his head back and forth and Jade and Jesy giggle at him. One of their knees is pressing into the outside of his thigh and someone is toying with his hair at the base of his neck. Everything feels slurred, even the game. But he can’t tell if that’s him or the players.  
They’re down to the final few minutes now, Liam’s last time on the ice. He skates beautifully, Louis can’t help but think, watching him stride across the ice in long strokes, weaving just in front of Styles as they narrow in on another offensive attack. But, the other team’s goalie gets pulled, and Louis knows this feeling, lived it less than a day ago, that gut-burning knowledge that this might be all you get to leave out on the ice for a year. No team goes down without a fight.  
The six offenders throw the Rangers off, no doubt. Louis blinks through the blurs in his vision as he struggles to place Liam, to see that he hasn’t managed to get off the ice in almost two minutes. He’ll be stuck until the end of the game, now, and Louis is whiteknuckling his drink.  
_Just don’t score, just don’t score, just don’t-_  
The final buzzer sounds, Louis not even realizing the actual gameplay time, and the camera zooms on Liam’s face as he tears off his helmet and crashes into Styles in bone-crushing hug. Louis blinks. Well, then.  
“Eh, good game, I guess,” Malik slurs, shifting Perrie on his lap. “Tommo, you have enough beds for us?”  
Louis shakes his head again, as if trying to get water out of his ears.  
“Uh…yeah, yeah I do. Three extra bedrooms, plus the couch folds out.”  
Someone gets their hands on the stereo and, then, well, he supposes now is when it becomes a party. Now that there’s not a game to watch, he can get properly wasted.  
It’s as he downs his third shot of Grey Goose for the night that he thumbs open his phone, finding Liam’s name. The kid didn’t respond to his morning-after message, but Louis supposed he was probably stuck with various captain-y things. Right. Important guy.  
_heyyyyy juss wanted 2 say you played GREATTT toniite._ is all that Louis can muster before clicking his phone asleep and accepting another drink from Jade.  
An hour later, Perrie and Malik have already disappeared down the hall, and Horan is somehow managing to dance with all three girls on top of Louis’ coffee table. Louis is cemented to the couch, laughing so hard his sides ache, when his phone buzzes.  
_thanks babe : ))) hope your night turned out okay!_  
Louis rolls his eyes at the smiley faces. Even when drunk, he doesn’t resort to those.  
_it’s oging awwwwsum thnx for asking!!!!!!!!!_  
It occurs to him as he hits send that Liam didn’t actually ask, but, y’know, that’s alright, everything will be fine.  
“Who ya textin’?”  
Louis jumps as Jade settles down next to him, having abandoned her friends as Horan somehow grinds on both of them.  
“Oh, uh…just a friend…” Louis sees his phone light up in his hand but is afraid to check it now.  
Jade smiles and bobs her head.  
“It’s okay, you’re allowed to have friends.”  
Louis lets out a nervous laugh and struggles with his passcode a few times before seeing the message: _Is someone a little drunk?_  
He just types out _yes!!!!_ with a string of emojis. (Four beer, two cocktail, ten eggplant.)  
Then, he notices Jade’s hand on his thigh. His mouth drops open.  
“You know,” Jade starts, “thanks for having us over…we’re all having a great time…”  
Louis can’t help but to glance up at the hilarious sight that is a pink-cheeked Horan now French kissing one girl with an arm slung around the other. My.  
“You’re – hic – welcome,” Louis says around a hiccup. Jade giggles. She’s very pretty, he can’t help but notice. She’s all pressed against his side now, and it’s the familiar pull of her fingers through the back of his hair.  
“You’re very cute, you know…”  
She’s inches away from his cheek when his phone buzzes. Luckily, it’s the persistent kind – a call.  
“I, uh, I gotta take this-“ Louis blabbers, unfolding himself from her and stumbling onto his balcony. He unlocks it without even looking, slurring, “Hello?”  
“Wow, you really did hit the booze once I left, didn’t you?”  
It’s Liam, fresh from a win, and Louis can practically hear the beam in his voice. The punch of disappointment, the I-won’t-have-this-anytime-soon hits him and settles in his gut.  
“Uh…yeah, yeah I guess…”  
“I’m not pulling you away from anything, am I?” Louis can hear Liam’s own party sounds in the background. Maybe he’s outside a bar. He’s not sure.  
“You are…but…but in a good way…”  
Liam chuckles and Louis gut twists again, but in a very different way. God, he loves making him laugh.  
“Well, good then.”  
There’s a beat and Louis realizes he left his drink inside. Probably a good thing. Liam’s voice crackles on the other end of the line.  
“Anyway…you can get back to your party. I guess I just…wanted to hear your voice. Sleep good, okay pup?”  
Louis’ whole mouth is dry.  
“I, uh, yeah…okay. You too.”  
Liam giggles a bit and the line cuts out.  
Louis leans heavily against the railing and sighs. What is he going to do about this.

When he finally steps back into the apartment and slides the door shut, it’s silent. The girls – probably with no help from Niall – swept through the place and frittered all the trash away, wiped down everything, even put his booze back in the cupboards. Jade pulled out the couch bed and is tucked up under the covers – the other two must’ve found beds…possibly with Horan. Louis smiles and shakes his head a bit. He makes sure to fill up his 32 ounce Nalgene as a hangover prep for the next day and slinks off to bed.

After the hangover he wakes up with that morning, he decides to stay off alcohol for a few days. Or weeks. However long it takes, he supposes. By the time he actually hauls himself out of bed, everyone has gone. He makes himself pancakes and watches ESPN do recap after recap of last night. Just as he’s adding chocolate chips to the batter, he hears Liam’s voice.  
“…Yeah, everyone just played great out there, it was really a great effort across the board…”  
Louis turns to see Liam’s recorded face spread across his television. He smiles. Liam looks happy, relaxed, exhausted but…gleeful. No other word for that.  
“It’s really something the whole team’s been focused on, I’m real proud of them…yeah, now we just need to keep looking ahead and play our game.”  
Louis smiles and dollops some batter into the skillet. Liam’s so good at the all the press mumbo jumbo. Louis couldn’t be happier that, as a third string defenseman, absolutely no one wants to talk to him. He makes it into sports blogs occasionally with all the partying he gets up to, but that’s about it. Back on the screen, Liam is accosted by the rest of his offense dumping all of their water bottles on him and he giggles – honest to God, _giggles_ \- while the interviewer thanks him for his time.  
Louis mutes the TV and flips a pancake with a hiss.

Louis never really knows what to do with himself in the offseason. There’s training, of course, but everyone else always seems to have side projects – Horan co-owns a bar, Malik is starting his own Nike line – and Louis is just left in the dust. He ends up at Horan’s place later that afternoon, beer in one hand and PS4 controller in the other. Horan had just blushed and shrugged when Louis inquired about the previous night, but he’s sporting some pretty spectacular hickeys all down his collar and into his chest, so Louis reasons it couldn’t have gone all too badly.  
“What about you though?” Horan asks, maneuvering his soccer player around Louis’ rockhard defense. (People have asked them about it – why they prefer soccer video games to the obvious choice – and they just shrug and say it’s something about how FIFA’s made. Louis can’t lie, he loves kicking a ball around instead of handling a puck when he can.) “You sorta just disappeared. I was pretty trashed though, I dunno if something else happened.”  
Louis shrugs and slide-tackles Horan’s player.  
“Ah, shit, how did you do that? Fuck – anyway, Jade’s been asking about you, apparently.”  
“Hm?”  
“The girl at the party?”  
“Oh, you mean the one you _didn’t_ sleep with.”  
Horan gives him a half-hearted kick but there’s a smile playing at his lips.  
“She’s nice, that’s all. Real cute, really knows her shit with hockey – just saying.”  
“When did you and Malik start conspiring about this?”  
Horan blushes all the way to his lowest hickey.  
“Well, not _conspire_ really, Perrie just brought it up…”  
Louis scoffs.  
“Thanks but no thanks, pass along that she’s lovely but I’m not interested.”  
Horan’s eyebrows raise for a moment and he mutters, “ _Well_ , then…” under his breath but that’s the last of it. Louis grits his teeth and realizes he’s doing a shit job at keeping this under the radar.  
As if his phone knows, it buzzes on his hip. Louis pauses the game – much to Horan’s indignation – and checks to see that Liam’s sent him a text.  
_Hi babe! Just wanted to let you know I’m back in town, wasn’t sure when we could see each other again. Miss you!_  
There’s three – THREE – kissy faces on the end and Louis wants to puke. He’s not sure out of happiness or disgust.  
“Who’s the lucky lady, then?” Horan asks, nudging Louis’ thigh with his foot. Louis hadn’t realized he was staring at the message like a fucking moonstruck idiot, of course.  
“Uh, no one, don’t worry about it,” Louis lies and immediately resumes the game, while Horan swears and scrambles to catch up.

Louis waits another couple hours before responding to Liam’s text. He doesn’t want to come off as clingy – especially considering he really does have _nothing_ to do except train and irritate the living cripes out of his teammates. What’s he’s most terrified about is Liam asking for him to come visit in New York. Not like there aren’t a laundry list of perfectly acceptable reasons for him to be there, but because that’s such a _step_. Their entire hookup schedule revolved around home and away games, whenever they happened to be in the same zip code they’d also be cloistered in some hotel room, the sounds of quick but life-altering orgasms ringing off the walls. It didn’t help that the Rangers and Bruins had enough of a rivalry. They made sure to always fuck before the game, never after, and Louis couldn’t help admit he loved the feeling of taking the ice on the rare time playing against Liam, whenever he could check him extra hard or make a stop it was an extra flurry of satisfaction in his gut. _I fucked that, and now I just stopped that. Hell fuckin’ right._  
Anyway, Louis shoots him a text that night that’s just _yeh man !!! lemme kno ur schedule_ and he knows it’s half-assed but he can’t help it. There’s no manual for this.  
He sighs and pulls into the parking lot of his loft as his phone buzzes with Liam’s reply.  
_I mean…I could make a trip to Boston during the three day break…_  
Louis breath catches and he doesn’t hold back in his next text.  
_god yes, plz._  
_Leaving now, be there around nine._  
Louis glances at the clock. Good, three hours to stew and ignore the already growing boner in his sweats. He and Liam haven’t fucked since the playoff schedule was announced – hot and dirty on Louis’ massive bed, pressed so close Louis thought they were going to fuse together, Liam whispering the nastiest shit in Louis’ ear about his perfect ass and smart mouth – and, well, Louis has needs.  
He spends the next couple hours bumming around, considering if it’s worth changing out of his sweats and threadbare hoodie, tries a couple outfits, goes back to his lounge clothes, tries to get his hair to lay flat, and, just as he gets a message from Liam about being a half hour away, pops a pizza in the oven.  
His doorbell rings mere moments after he sets the pizza on the cooling rack. He answers the door to see a flushed Liam, still looking fucking elated.  
“Hey Tommo,” Liam hums, stepping into the foyer and toeing off his shoes.  
“I, uh, made a pizza…” Louis mumbles, not sure what they do now. Hug? Kiss? How do boyfriends greet each other?  
“Excellent, I’m starving.”  
They split it down the middle and devour it, Louis dribbling oil down his chin while Liam keeps losing all of his cheese. Louis can’t help but admire the view he has – Liam in the foreground, laughing hysterically while attempting to scoop his mozzarella back on his slice, the view of the Boston skyline in the background, glittering in the distance. It’s a nice one.  
“Man, I need a shower, I just rinsed after practice – mind if I use yours?” Liam asks, once the pizza has finally been demolished.  
Louis nods, wiping some more crumbs off the countertop. Then, he feels Liam’s sure hand on his lower back and his lips are in Louis’ ear.  
“Want to join me?”  
It’s a far cry from the bathtub cuddling they had done just a few days ago – Liam’s barely out of his boxers before Louis tackles him into the (equally stupidly large) shower, cranking the water on and pressing a few buttons to convert it into a steam room. Liam barely has time to relax his shoulders against the wall before Louis retrieves the lube hidden behind his pile of shampoo bottles and passes it over.  
“You mind?”  
Liam laughs, a full belly laugh that rings off the tile, and pops the cap open.  
“Lou, what kind of question is that?”  
Minutes later, Louis is moaning and rocking back on Liam’s three crooked fingers, while Liam sucks a mark behind Louis’ ear. “Aw, fuck, Payno, fuck, I’m ready, let’s get on with this…”  
“Always the romantic, you are,” Liam chides. The steam has dulled a bit but he’s still sweating, pricks of moisture spotting across his forehead and collarbones. Louis wants to lick all of it off.  
“Condoms are in the top drawer of the stand around the corner.”  
Liam perks an eyebrow but takes two steps out of the room to retrieve it, closing the door back behind him with a click.  
“I’m not even going to ask.”  
“Good,” Louis says with a smirk.  
Liam rolls his eyes and rips open the wrapper. After easing the condom on and adding a bit more lube, he’s crowding Louis against the wall nearest the showerhead and buries his face in Louis’ neck, lining himself up. Louis’ practically shaking with anticipation, not realizing how much he had been thinking about this, how ready he was for Liam to be back, to be back with _him._  
The slow burn makes Louis wince a little but he pulls through, gripping both the back of Liam’s neck and the curve of his ass, doing his best to control the pace.  
“Easy, easy, Lou, I gotcha, I gotcha…” Liam murmurs, much more tender than their usual fuck-and-runs. Louis firmly presses that out of his mind.  
Finally, when Liam is buried and Louis has had a couple seconds to blink and adjust, he just bites into Liam’s collarbone, and, at this point, well…Liam knows what that means.  
He starts slow at first, pace rising as Louis shoves back against the wall for leverage, hissing with the drag of Liam’s cock inside him. Liam huffs out a breath and adds on speed, one spectacularly big hand gripping the back of Louis’ thigh, pulling his leg up and out a bit to get a better angle. Louis’ whimpering now, curses falling out of his mouth as he leans forward, still determined to mark Liam up. When he attaches his mouth right at the pulse point in Liam’s neck, the beard there tickling his lips, Liam moans, his other hand stuttering out to catch against the wall. Louis’ only holding on to Liam now, hoping he won’t slip on the tile, still whining every time Liam adjusts his angle or speed, and then – with a quick twist of his hips, Liam’s hitting Louis’ spot, making them both gasp for a second and then double their pace, the obscene smack of Liam’s hips against Louis’ ass filling their ears.  
“Fuck fuck _fuck_ , right there, Li, c’mon…” Louis groans, licking over the fresh bite he planted on Liam’s neck. Liam practically growls back at him and pushes him farther up on the wall, his forearm braced right next to Louis’ head and _shit_ it’s hot to see the bicep flex with every thrust.  
Louis can’t help himself but choke out, “I’m close,” and Liam’s hands are on him in a light second, still a bit gummy from the lube and tugging him for all it’s worth. Louis spills seconds later, his high moans keening as Liam thrusts a few more times and then comes himself. They both stand there for a minute, thighs shaking, heaving a bit for air.  
Liam keeps a hand on Louis’ shoulder as he pulls out, careful to tie the condom off and pop out of the door to toss it in the bin right outside. He lets himself back in and Louis’ already soaping up a loofah. Without a word, he steps forward and begins to brush it across Liam’s collarbones, his abs, his hips, and Liam smiles and gives him a quick kiss on the edge of his mouth.  
“That was…amazing, Lou. Really.”  
Louis gives him a cheeky smile and continues rubbing the bubbles over Liam’s chest.  
Liam’s arms work around him, pulling him tight into an embrace. Louis squawks and blows a couple raspberries, fake-choking.  
“What’s this for, you’re getting soap in my mouth!”  
“Good, might clean it out a bit,” Liam says with a chuckle, planting a peck on top of Louis’ head. There’s a pause as the steam swirls around them, Liam still squeezing Louis tight. Then, as if nothing had happened, Liam’s arms drop, just to pluck the loofah out of Louis’ hands and spin him around, giving Liam access to wash his back. Louis sighs, rolling his shoulders back, and relaxes into Liam’s slow strokes. Yeah, he’s definitely in too deep.

Louis is starting to get used to going to bed with Liam and waking up with a note.  
He smiles when he sees it perched on his nightstand and plucks it up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.  
_Morning sleepy! Hope you got a good rest – certainly sounded like it : )  
I had to run back early for some press, sorry to duck out.  
See you when I see you, don’t be afraid to text… xx  
-Li_  
Louis rolls his eyes a little at that last sentence. He _knows_ what Liam’s saying, knows that Louis himself has been terrible at reaching out or even providing encouragement – but, he also doesn’t want to bother Liam, doesn’t want to be the loser sorta-something that makes it impossible for Liam to fully enjoy this playoff run. Louis isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do, but he’s not going to pester Liam into sacrificing a second of this experience.  
In retaliation, Louis hits the gym. He’s always hated sticking to the suggested diet – especially in the offseason – but makes up for it in gym time. Long interval runs followed by hours in the weight room, bent over doing every iteration of a situp he’s ever heard of. It’s incredible how much of his body he so readily sacrifices to this sports, as well as how many schoolboy insecurities still plague him. His stomach tones, but never solidifies into the six-pack of many of his teammates, even if he has an impressive cut to his hips. His arms, slender and twig-like all through his childhood, swell into real biceps and his narrow shoulders ripple with muscle. And, best of all, his thighs – rock hard, thick, and able to skate miles and miles and miles. He sometimes wonders how many ice laps he could do at full speed before collapsing.  
Though the few days he’s taken off may seem like nothing, he goes back full force. Every second spent on his couch makes him feel oozy and unproductive. Maybe he can’t win this year, but he’ll invest every second he once spent stewing training instead. After a five mile run and full arm day, he staggers into the showers and wheezes under the spray for a while. He gets a flash of his last shower – all Liam, all over him, pressed inside him, begging him to come – and he shuts off the water and wraps himself in a towel before he can dwell on it. No one’s about to catch him jerking off to the memory of a goddamn Cup-hopeful in his own team’s shower.  
He repeats this exercise every day for the rest of the week, only mixing up his routine to occasionally smoke with Malik or be joined in the gym by Horan. Suddenly, somehow, it’s game day again. He hates how he already has Liam’s schedule all memorized – nothing but hunks of games blacked out in his mind against long, sprawling days full of musky weight rooms and showers that give him the best kinds of flashbacks. He and Liam have kept up texting, but only mildly so – Louis always worries that he’s distracting him, thinks of all the times his friends have commented on his own overactive phone, doesn’t want Liam’s teammates to suspect that Liam’s mind might be anywhere other than on the Cup.  
On the way home from the workout that night, he stops at the grocery and gets accosted by two giggling middle-aged women in the meat aisle. They fawn over him and titter even harder when he blushes at their affection. It’s rare he gets recognized in public, even in his own city; hockey masks have the benefit of usually cloaking the finer facial features necessary to pick out a “celebrity.” At any rate, he happily takes a photo with the two women and echoes their sentiments of “next year, next year…” He knows he’s lucky, in some regard, to still be so new to the system. He can’t imagine what some of the older characters going through the ranks are feeling.  
Louis ends up at home, slicing vegetables in his kitchen, television on as chicken sizzles in the pan behind him. He’s somehow ended up watching this game alone, and that’s okay. He thinks he might prefer it that way, just his own voice bouncing off the walls in his house. The brilliant strategic move he thought of was cooking during the game – it gives his hands something to do and forces him to look away from the screen occasionally, if only to stir a pot or add some pepper. Tonight he’s only making pulled chicken sandwiches, but he stretches the cooking as long as he can, far into the second period. Liam has been playing well, amping the aggression that was markedly missing from the third period of the last game. But, as tournaments work, this new team is much tougher. They’re older than many of Liam’s players, seasoned blood knowing their way through the process. Louis takes careful bites of his sandwich at every stoppage of play and spears his salad with too much force when a Ranger gets taken off for another shit penalty. Liam kills a full minute while he’s on the ice, beautiful handling and intuition throughout. But, it’s not enough, and just as Liam clambers onto the bench, the other team blitzes and manages a goal.  
Louis sinks in his couch, sandwich growing cold on his plate. When he’s on the ice, he secretly loves playing down. It makes him burn bright, give every shred of himself to the team, rage seeping into his bones, his skates, his stick. But watching his boyfriend play? No, no no no…he does not like this one bit.  
He watches the third period as though his jaw is wired shut. One errant comment, one snippet of praise, could throw everything off. He just wants them to win. To win to win to win…  
They lose. A 1-0 loss, one of the most difficult to stomach.  
Louis breathes deeply and throws his head back against the couch cushions. Without looking, he shuts the television off. His apartment seems to sigh with him. For the next half hour, he busies himself packing up all the leftovers and scrubbing every pot and surface he used, all while staring at his phone planted in the middle of the kitchen island.  
He’s not sure if he’s expecting Liam to call. Who calls who after a loss? Liam had just shown up at his door when Louis hadn’t answered his phone. Louis isn’t about to that, but it never makes going back to your empty apartment any easier, even if you can physically _feel_ the city mourning with you, can see the disappointment and sadness in every bar you pass, knowing that you did that, you let those people down, and yeah, okay, maybe Louis is dialing his number before he fully finishes the thought. It rings…and rings…and suddenly Louis is caught up in himself. Comforting has never been his thing. God, what does he –  
He gets voicemail. It’s Liam’s chipper voice, explaining that he’s away from his phone, please leave a message, thank you. Louis snorts. So many players, when they know every professional phone call will be furloughed through an agent, record snarky, ridiculous away messages – Louis’ for example, is Horan deadpanning “Hello, you’ve reached the Louis Tomlinson fan club, please leave your name, number, and favorite thing about Tommo after the beep…” – but, duh, Liam is always the face of decency.  
It takes Louis a second to register that the answering machine has already beeped.  
“Li! Er, Liam…hi. Uhhh, it’s Louis, sorry, um…just wanted to call and…see how you’re doing I guess. I mean, I know it sucks, y’know, been there and whatnot, I just…just wanted to be here for you, so, like…yeah, if you want to talk, you can, um, call me back. Same number, and everything. Um. You played great tonight.”  
Louis hangs up before he can further shove his foot in his mouth. He’s breathing heavy as he sits back on his couch, turns the TV to something mind-numbing, and zones out as much as he can.

He must’ve dozed for an hour or so, because he wakes up to his phone vibrating, still clutched in his hand. He answers in a heartbeat.  
“Hello?”  
“Hey, love, it’s Liam.”  
God, he sounds so _tired_. Louis shifts on the couch and tucks a foot underneath himself.  
“Hey…how are you?”  
“Eh, been better…” Liam coughs out half a laugh after that and Louis buries his face in his other hand. Liam’s even nice after he’s lost the first game of his series – of course! Duh!  
“Yeah…yeah I get that.”  
There’s a long pause on the line.  
“I don’t know what to say Li, apart from ‘I’m sorry.’”  
“Nah, Tommo, I understand…”  
Was Liam really comforting Louis about not being able to comfort him? What was happening?  
“Liam, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but…shut up. Let me fumble at this, okay?” He could hear Liam chuckling on the other end of the phone. “I really think you played well and I know you and your team – you’ll bounce back from this. One loss means nothing. Just use it to fuel your fire, okay?” Louis hadn’t meant to get heated, but here he was, cheeks pink and standing with his back against his counter and talking a mile a mile. When he finally ran out of steam, he could hear Liam breathing.  
“…Sorry, was that too much?”  
“No, that was…thanks. I needed that.”  
Louis bit his knuckle to temper the huge smile that was spreading across his face.  
“You’re welcome.”  
There was another beat, then a sigh from Liam.  
“God, I miss you. Wish you were here.”  
Louis makes sure the lump in his throat doesn’t overtake him.  
“Me too.”  
“…I’ll call you tomorrow?”  
Louis nods, then remembers Liam can’t see him.  
“Yeah, sure, sounds great.”  
When Liam hangs up, Louis keeps the phone to his ear for an extra few seconds. The room seems to vibrate. He gives himself until the count of ten, then turns on his heel and heads to bed.

By the next couple games, he’s fallen into routine. It’s weird, to consider that he now has a routine of watching his boyfriend play. In the Cup playoffs. No big deal.  
He starts each day with a workout, no question. Long and hard and as much effort as he can muster into it. Horan has been joining him almost every day now, not bothering him but just adding bits of wit here and there. Malik even showed up one morning, looking as somber as ever but outrunning both of them on the track.  
After each workout, Louis heads into the grocery and finds something to make that night. The more difficult, the better. Preferably nothing involving any of his larger knives. The second game, Louis makes pizza from scratch, kneading out dough on his kitchen island and screeching at Liam to take his shots with authority. Liam stutters throughout the first two periods, but gets an assist – again, with that Styles kid – late in the third, and Louis almost chokes on his mouthful of cheese, pumping a fist in the air.  
The night after that: roasted chickpea salad with homemade champagne vinaigrette. Louis happens to have his back turned to the stove for both opposing goals, probably for the best. Despite a rally in the last half, Louis is left spearing bits of lettuce to the ESPN announcers proclaiming Rangers being behind by a game in the series.  
Game four finds Louis making chicken wings with three different sauces. He bought the whole chicken in a brazen state of confidence and then spends the whole first period struggling to butcher it, but it’s worth it to have crispy-skinned deliciousness to eat all through the second and third. _That_ game is tight, all the way down to the last minute before a pulled-goalie blitz managed a goal from the Rangers. Louis lays on his back in his foyer to get his breathing back to normal levels.  
By the fifth game of the series, Louis has worked his way through much of what he’s seen on Food Network and is branching out into more difficult terrain. Homemade pasta. Made the old-fashioned way, with a well of flour and eggs inside. He plays instructional videos on a propped-up iPad while the game rages in the background. The dough has to rest throughout the second period and Louis crouches on his counter like a gargoyle watching the puck shoot back and forth across the ice. It’s tied one-one at that point and Louis can’t believe this has been this low-scoring of a series, through and through.  
Only as he begins to thin the dough that he looks up just in time to see Liam on a breakaway and Louis’ suddenly bellowing at the television but Liam’s still skating and it’s all slow motion until Liam pops up the puck with a little flick and it sails into the net effortlessly. Louis loses it, hunk of dough forgotten on the table, and he’s prancing around his entire apartment whooping like a maniac, getting flour _everywhere._ He eventually settles down long enough to finally go through the rest of his dough, cook the pasta, and finish it with his own cream sauce but by the time that all happens, it’s down to two more minutes.  
The pasta sits untouched until the buzzer sounds and Louis lets out a full whoosh of air. He’s done it. Just one more game.  
After his meal is (finally) devoured, Louis curls up in bed and looks at his phone. He and Liam have been speaking on the phone almost every night now, apart from that second loss when Liam had just texted him: _I know you’ll say brilliant things, but I need tonight to myself. Will call you tomorrow, I swear. xx_ Louis had let himself worry about it for all of two minutes before rationalizing. It’s probably what he would have done, too. And, sure enough, Liam had called him the next morning, sounding much more optimistic.  
But now…now Liam has a win, has the semi-finals in sight. Louis is exploding with pride for him. Louis hopes deep in his heart that he’ll still call tonight. Louis curls up with Netflix and watches his way through half a season of some random sitcom before his phone starts buzzing. He holds it in his hand and waits for at least the third ring before answering, doing his best to maintain _some_ kind of mystery.  
“Hi there, winner.”  
Liam giggles – god, Louis loves his giggle – and then snorts. Just from that, Louis can tell he’s been drinking a bit. Which, for Liam, probably means all of two beers.  
“Thanks, Lou…I feel GREAT.”  
“I bet you do.” Louis wiggles back in his mound of pillows, settling in for an actual chat.  
“Everything…everything is amazing. We might cinch it at home, y’know? I’m so excited.” Liam pulls out the ‘d’ in ‘excited’ and Louis is so, so fond. He can’t believe it.  
“I can’t believe it, babe. Such a cool thing.”  
There’s a long pause and Louis is afraid he’s accidentally reminded Liam of Louis’ loss again, which was not his intention. But, just as he’s about to talk over himself, he hears Liam speak in a much different tone.  
“I miss you.”  
Louis knows that ‘I miss you.’ It’s not their whiny I-miss-you or tired I-miss-you or even their sad, wallowing I-miss-you. Something of an entirely different breed. Louis can help with this one, at least.  
“Oh, you do, do you?”  
“Y-yeah…loads…”  
There’s already a hitch to Liam’s voice and Louis gets a shiver down his spine.  
“Where are you, babe?”  
“M-my apartment. Bedroom.”  
Louis hums acknowledgement and his right hand is already snaking down his torso, catching a nipple under the pads of his fingers as it goes.  
“You got anything on?”  
“Just my – my boxers…”  
Louis breathes deeply, lets himself picture Liam all spread out on whatever ridiculously-sized mattress he has, clad in only his sexiest black boxer-briefs, hard-on straining at the material. He must’ve worked himself up to this call, thought about it the whole ride home, maybe even the whole shower, maybe even during the game…  
“Well, get those off, darling, can’t have you like that,” Louis purrs, working his own bottoms down to his shins and lightly kicking them off his ankles. He’s starting to fill out against his hip and he arches back on his bed to get a pump of the hand lotion he keeps on the end table. Liam is still breathing heavy on the line. “Want to tell me what we’d be doing, if I was there?”  
“Oh, oh fuck Lou…uh, I’d have you on your hands and knees…right here…”  
It’s insanely good, having Liam whispering things to him as he works between his legs, just teasing with a couple strokes but beginning to pull off in earnest when he hears Liam’s tight whine.  
“And…god…your whole body, I’d just…mark the whole thing up, give you bruises, something to remember the next time I’m on the ice…”  
“Oh – you would, would you?”  
Louis’ voice has already climbed a few steps and he’s doing his best not to muffle it in the bedclothes. But dammit, it’s difficult when Liam lets out a moan – soft, tender.  
“Yeah, and then, then I’d flip us around…have you ride me, hold the headboard, so I could see all you, all of you above me…”  
Louis’ breath hitches and he loses his rhythm for a second. His hand pauses for the lightest of seconds and then returns at double speed. Louis can barely speak.  
“Then what, babe, keep going…”  
“Ugh, you’d look so pretty, bouncing on my cock, begging you to let you come…”  
Louis can’t help himself; he gasps, squeezing the base of his cock so not to come right at those words.  
“ _Fuck_ Liam…”  
“You – You’re probably there right now, right when you can’t stop moaning and, oh shit, it’s so hot Lou, it’s so hot…”  
Louis has sweat pricking across his forehead now, still arched back on the center of his bed, feeling like he will quite literally drop dead if he does not come in the next minute.  
“C’mon Li, c’mon, I’m right there, I’m right…”  
“Ask, Lou, you have to ask…”  
Louis feels like he’s near tears when he chokes out, “Fuck, Liam, let me come, let me come _please_ …” and there’s a frantic three seconds of complete silence before he hears Liam’s chirp of “…yes.”  
Louis is long gone before Liam’s even done with the word, spurting all the way up to his tuft of chest hair, practically pulling a muscle in his calf the way he’s twisted. He’s a mess of disjointed syllables and sighs and variations on “god fucking yes Liam, holy fucking shit yes…” and he’s only worked his way through a couple aftershocks when he’s finally sighing, “c’mon, babe, come for me, come for me right now…” and he hears the gasp on Liam’s end of the phone and he’s following suit. Then, there’s nothing on the phone line but deep breathing.  
“That was…wow.” Liam’s voice recovers so much quicker than Louis’ after sex, it’s so unfair.  
“Yeah…yeah.” Louis sounds haggard, but it’s worth it.  
“I…I still miss you, you know.”  
Louis grins like a maniac, peeling himself off the sheets to grab a washcloth.  
“Of course I know. Just one more game.”  
“Oh, hush Lou…”  
Louis has no intention of hushing any time soon.

The next morning, Louis is just going through his final stretches when Horan flops down on the mat next to him.  
“Okay, so we’re doing a blowout night. Two-for-one drinks. First time we really get to celebrate after the loss. You down?”  
Louis blinks. It’s a lot of information when he still doesn’t feel wholly awake.  
“Uhh…tonight?”  
“Yeah, yeah, should be crazy. Malik’s in, too. You want to come and pregame with the guys?”  
“The guys” was a blanket term for pretty much anyone who’s ever met Horan. Louis has never met anyone who can make friends like that Irishman.  
“Well…” The game was on tonight. A win would mean Liam would be on to the semi-finals. Louis breathes out slowly.  
“Am I speaking to the right Tommo? Hesitating before accepting a party invite?” Horan’s tone is joking but there’s a flicker of something else behind his eyes.  
Louis forces a smile onto his face, barking out a laugh.  
“’Course I’m in, just tired, that’s all.”  
“Well catch a nap before tonight! It’s gonna be craaaaaaazy!” Horan twiddles his fingers before hauling himself up for another few laps. Louis sits back on his hands, muscles aching. It was about to be an interesting evening.

Louis rolls up to McGinty’s with a bottle of Grey Goose tucked under one arm, setting score alerts up before he even steps out of the cab. He figures he can probably convince everyone to watch during the pregame, since people won’t start arriving until long after the game’s over. An 8:30 puck drop meant by the time the club got packed around 11:00, Louis would be primed and ready to party. At least, that was his hope.  
“Tommo!” Louis is greeted with a wall of sound as he pushes open the back door of the bar. Horan’s behind the bar, pouring shots for the fifteen people smudged up against it. Malik and Perrie are missing, but there’s plenty of other people for Louis to meet. But first, a shot filled to the brim with brown liquid is forced into his hand. Without even pausing for the toast, Louis tosses it back. Whiskey. Fantastic.

It turns out, it’s not difficult to convince Horan’s co-owner Bressie to turn on the Rangers game – but it is almost impossible watch without attracting attention. Louis makes himself network, chatting his way around the room and angling himself so he can always face one of the TV’s. Horan, meanwhile, flits everywhere, making sure the bar has enough Grey Goose for the entire team – all of whom have promised to show up tonight and are slowly trickling in – supervising the string lights going up on the heated rooftop deck…and accepting every drink passed his way. Louis snickers to himself as Horan stumbles down the last two steps on his most recent circuit, and hopes everyone can get proper trashed.  
Hell, Louis might even get proper trashed – he’ll need it after this first period. There was a goal early against the Rangers and Liam isn’t playing his best. It’s the sort of thing that wouldn’t necessarily be noticed by an announcer, but something Louis has been able to spot from watching Liam like a hawk this season…and seasons before, if he’s being honest. Regardless, Liam’s missing the mark ever so slightly, and he’s getting in his own head. _Snap out of it,_ Louis thinks, stirring his vodka soda. Fuck this diet. Fuck this game.  
“Ay, I can hear your teeth grinding across the room – what’s wrong, baby?” Perrie has just appeared at his shoulder, stroking her hand up and down his neck. Louis starts, glancing away from the TV just as it goes to commercial.  
“Hey Per – where’s Malik?”  
“Bar,” says Perrie with a soppy smile. Sure enough, Malik’s watching Horan pour two very heavy drinks. Louis has no idea how Horan is going to make any money tonight if the team is drinking for free. “Jade’s here, too.”  
Louis was busy calculating how many bottles of Grey Goose the team could rip through in an evening.  
“Who?”  
“Oh my god, Tomlinson,” Perrie smacks him lightly on the bicep. “The girl who’s been all over you!”  
“Oh, uh, sorry –“ Louis winces, not sure how he’s going to talk his way out of this one. The great thing about the NHL is that everyone assumes you’re straight, so much so that being spotted with a few hot female friends and being able to talk your way around the locker room is enough. But when it comes to actual dating situations…Louis has no idea what to do.  
“Look, I’m not going to be offended if you don’t like her…just confused to hell.” Perrie flashes a smile but Louis’ not so sure it’s friendly.  
“She’s just not my…type.” Louis takes a slurp of his drink in the uncomfortable silence.  
“Not your…type.” Perrie raises an eyebrow. “Gorgeous, funny, knows hockey…those aren’t on your list?”  
“I dunno, Per…”  
“Hey babe, ‘sup Tommo?” Malik finally sidles up with drinks. He pauses for a beat, tasting the tension. “Uhh…I miss something?”  
“Oh nothing, darling,” Perrie says, fire in her eyes now. “Louis was just telling me about his type.”  
“Perrie, if you’re going to be a bitch about this, I’m just gonna leave,” Louis snaps, the words leaving his mouth before he can fully process them. With that, he turns on his heel and heads up the stairs, taking them two at a time.  
He pushes open the door to the roof deck and the second the cold air hits his face, he knows he’s made a mistake. For one, the TVs were down there. For another, he probably just insulted his main on-ice partner’s girlfriend, which can’t be good. He breathes out in a huff and heads toward the bar up here. There’s no one behind it, but Louis helps himself to a beer – and indulgence – and settles next to one of the warming lamps. With a few taps on his phone, he has a live feed playing. He slurps at his beer and breathes out again.  
His phone’s tinny speaker squeals and Louis looks over a second too late. A goal for the Rangers, thanks to Styles. Great. Louis buries his face in his hands as they announce the last minute of the first period, and it clicks over to commercial.  
Louis stays upstairs for the entire intermission. The chill licks at him a bit, but he’s so used to it on the ice he doesn’t mind. A few minutes into the second period, the door clicks open. Louis forces himself to stay staring at his hands – the game still tittering on his phone – but feels someone sit next to him.  
“Hey bro, you okay?” It’s Malik.  
Louis breathes out.  
“Sorry I yelled at your girlfriend.”  
“I’m not thrilled about it, but she had to have been pushing your buttons for it to happen.”  
There’s a moment of silence.  
“Yeah, I guess.”  
“Care to share?”  
Louis grits his teeth. He has to give up at least part of the truth.  
“She really wants me to date her friend.”  
Malik hums at that.  
“Yeah, Jade’s really into you. But if you’re not into her, then obviously that’s fine.”  
“ _Thank_ you,” Louis replies, trying to take as much bite out of his voice as he can.  
“But seriously, that aside, is everything okay? I feel like every time I see you, you’re on edge. And…watching the Rangers game,” he finishes, noticing the phone for the first time.  
“I’m…” Louis falters, watching the tiny Liam on screen skate off for a changeover. He closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them to stare back at his hands. “I’m having a tough time getting over the season, I guess. Moving on.”  
Malik claps him on the back, fingers digging into his shoulder a bit.  
“Understandable, dude. It’s always really rough your first year. You’ve just gotta focus on taking a bit of time off, relaxing, finding something else to focus your mind on. Then you can hit the next season hard.”  
Louis nods, watching a long penalty kill for the opposing team. Liam’s still off the ice.  
“You’re right.”  
“Happens every once and a while.” Malik’s standing now, holding out a hand for Louis. “I told Perrie to leave us alone for a bit – give us some time to get wasted.” He smiles. Louis takes his hand, reaches back to grab his phone and follows his teammate downstairs.

Turns out, they don’t need a ton of time to get wasted. The second period passes without another score, and with many, many drinks being forced into Louis’ hands. Most of the team is here by this point and ready to get rowdy after a couple weeks apart. The regular bar crowd is trickling in now, too, all looking at each other with glee that they’ve stumbled upon an unofficial Bruins party. Louis steers clear of everyone but his teammates, picking his way through the crowded room as the third period is winding down. Luckily, the “normals” all want to watch the game – albeit rooting against the Rangers – so Louis’ no longer the sole head staring at the screen. Just as Liam shoots and misses for what feels like the millionth time that night, Horan stumbles his way down the stairs and throws an arm around Louis.  
“Duuuuuuuuude, isn’t this the best?!”  
Louis smiles and turns. Horan’s red in the face, his standard drunk flush creeping all the way down his chest.  
“Yeah, it’s awesome, man,” Louis replies and he’s surprised that his words are slurring a bit, too. “What does Bressie put in those blue shots?”  
“I have noooooo idea…shit, those are good though, let’s get some more –“  
“Fuck,” Louis whispers under his breath as Horan grabs his arm and drags him toward the bar.  
A suspicious blue shot and a round of speed quarters later, Louis is definitely slurring. But now strangers are fighting amongst themselves to buy him drinks, so he supposes it’s not all bad. He’s leaning against the bar, listening to a man sing his praises – though he’s ninety percent sure the guy called him “Zayn” – when he realizes the game’s gone into overtime.  
“Fuck, I’m sorry, I need to pay attention, sorry sorry,” Louis says, all of the apologies running together as he turns to keep both eyes on the TV. Liam seems to have revitalized himself during the break, since now he’s skating like a true man on a mission. Louis bites his knuckle to stop from smiling as he sees his boyfriend – his _boyfriend_ , it still sounds ridiculous to him – glide down the ice, weaving in and out of defenders.  
They’re all exhausted, that’s the thing, and Louis knows the feeling. Overtime is the most grueling awful thing and he wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy. Well…it’s probably the exact kind of punishment he’d wish on his worst enemy. He leans forward harder onto the bar, resting both forearms against the sticky wood. _C’mon Li, just grab a goal. A quickie, anywhere,_ Louis thinks, now starting to drum his fingers to kick more of his nervous energy.  
Wordlessly, Bressie pulls a Guinness and passes it to him. Louis hates Guinness like his life depends on it, but takes a gulp just as something to do. The clock is winding down and Liam’s team will collapse if they have to play another five minutes, Louis just knows it.  
And then, after a scuffle on defense, Styles emerges with the puck, tearing down the ice and damn, can that kid skate. He’s alone, up against two defenders, looking like he has nowhere to go – until Liam comes out of nowhere, setting up a fantastic pick that both defenders run into, allowing Styles to juke around them and neatly pop the puck over the goalie’s left shoulder.  
Louis yells without thinking, raising his beer and sloshing the top two inches down his arm. There’s an uncomfortable half-second that he’s certain he’s the only one who reacted, but then the rest of the bar is groaning and screaming at the TV and Louis’ able to join in – if only he could wipe the smirk off his face. They won. He knew it, but the pride in him still swells. His boyfriend did it. Well, his boyfriend helped.  
He looks away from the TV, blushing a bit, only to meet Bressie’s eyes. There’s a question there, but not one that Louis is at all equipped to answer.  
“Fuck ‘em!” Louis yells, letting his smile come back. “Next round on me!” The bar erupts in noise, and Louis pulls out his credit card.

Three hours later, after a quick boot-n-rally puke in a deserted bathroom, one broken up girlfriend fight – thankfully not involving Perrie, though she looked ready to have a go – and several more games of speed quarters, the party is somehow still raging. Louis felt like he hasn’t stopped laughing since the Rangers won. He’s been pulled into fifty pictures and had to turn away drinks left and right. He’s still got a healthy buzz, after all this time. It’s only when Malik is doing some impromptu lip syncing to Drake that Louis reaches for his phone and realizes he doesn’t have it.  
“Bres! Have you seen my phone?” Louis calls down the bar and Bressie ducks down for a second and pops back with Louis’ neon green-cased iPhone Plus.  
“You left it on the bar after your tenth game of quarters, I put it back here for safekeeping – buncha missed calls, though, Tommo! Mr. Popular!” Bressie laughs and slides it down the bar to a chorus of “Oooooo’s” from the team. Louis flushes and snatches the phone before anyone can say anything to him. As he’s heading up to the roof, he glances at the screen to see five missed calls from the taco emoji (his contact name for Liam), all spaced from the end of the game to now. Louis redials before he knows what he’s doing.  
“Hey Lou!” and wow, it’s scary how just hearing Liam’s voice makes Louis’ heart burst. He sounds so happy, so relaxed, and Louis can’t believe it. He won.  
“Hi,” Louis says, suddenly shy. The roof bar is deserted, everyone packed downstairs to watch the lipsyncing and play bar games. Louis huddles back around his warmer from before and giggles.  
“What’re you laughing about, cutie?” Louis heart punches again at the endearment.  
“You. I’m so proud of you.”  
“I’m pretty proud of me, too, to be honest,” Liam says, and Louis rolls his eyes. The closest Liam will ever get to bragging, right there. “Guess what.”  
“What?” Louis asks, biting back another smile. God, he’s disgusting. They’re disgusting. He loves it.  
“Well, I guess the better phrasing would be ‘Guess where.’”  
Louis giggles again. Okay, he’s still a little drunk. Drunk, and high on Liam. “What’re you on about?”  
“I’m almost to Boston,” Liam says in a rush, so quickly that Louis doesn’t process it.  
“You’re…what?”  
“I just got out of the stadium and started driving. Funny, there’s no one on the road at this hour…I should be at your apartment in like a half hour.”  
Louis laughs, still not putting this together.  
“But…but I’m not there!” he chokes out, still half-laughing.  
“You’re…what?”  
“I’m out with Horan and the guys…I can be, though – hold on, fuck, I’ll need to get a cab –“  
Liam’s chuckling now, too.  
“You’re been drinking, haven’t you?” He’s fond, not judgmental, but Louis still blushes with embarrassment.  
“Only a bit. You can still –“ _You can still fuck me tonight, if that’s what you’re wondering,_ Louis finishes in his head, and presses a hand to his crotch. Well, that’s certainly something to consider.  
“Here, why don’t I just pick you up? That makes the most sense. Where are you?”  
Louis’ mouth runs dry. What if someone sees? What if someone puts it all together? Louis huffs out a breath, trying to wrap his mind around how to phrase this to Liam. He doesn’t want to hurt him, he doesn’t.  
“Wow, you have been drinking, Lou – do you know where you are?” Liam just shifted into concerned and Louis doesn’t want that either.  
“No, no, Li, I’m fine – sorry, someone was calling me. Look, I’m at McGinty’s, but…maybe pick me up a few blocks away? Just…just in case.”  
Liam sighs on the other end of the phone.  
“Lou, I’m just in my Range Rover. It’s not like there’s paps there, is there? I don’t trust you wandering around drunk on the Boston streets.”  
Louis’ done much worse on the Boston streets, but Liam doesn’t need to know that.  
“No, no, there aren’t paps. I just…yeah. Sure. Call me when you’re here.”  
“Of course, bug. Can’t wait to see you.”  
Louis heart flip-flops. It’s exhausting, this dating thing.  
“Can’t wait to see you, too. Either. I dunno.”  
Liam laughs one more time, and the call ends.  
Louis wanders downstairs in a haze, knowing he should start his goodbyes now since they’ll take the full half hour. He weaves through bodies, grabbing teammates’ shoulders and saying he’ll see them at the gym tomorrow to boos and hisses. Malik kisses him on the side of the head as a goodbye and Louis gets an insane whiff of peach schnapps. Louis waves to Perrie and she returns it, only half-smiling. He tries to close out his tab next and, even though the charge is nothing to sniff at, he’s certain it’s only a fraction of what he ordered that night.  
“Bres, any idea where Horan got to?” Louis shouts as he signs the receipt.  
“No idea, mate, let me know if you find him!”  
Louis nods and decides he’ll smoke outside until Liam gets there.  
He finds Horan outside, puking his guts out into a garbage can. Louis ducks back inside for two waters and comes out to run his hand through Horan’s hair. Thank god it’s short enough he doesn’t need anyone to hold it.  
“Ni, here,” Louis says, passing him a water as Horan spits into the can.  
“Thanks, dude,” Horan rasps, and takes several gulps.  
“Easy, easy,” Louis reminds, taking the cup back when Horan’s finished.  
“What can I say, the blue stuff got to me.” Horan sneaks a laugh and sure enough, his tongue’s stained blue.  
“Yeah, I already did my bit upstairs a couple hours ago. We’re all a bit trashed, eh?”  
“No shit. Great party, though,” Horan says, spitting again. Louis lights up as Horan drinks more water, careful to blow his smoke away from his teammate. Smoking is strictly forbidden on the team rules, but Louis is a terrible quitter at these sorts of things. He only allows himself when he’s drinking, or anxious, or if he just really really wants one. It’s fine.  
“Heard you got in a tiff with Perrie earlier,” Horan floats, speaking into the can so his voice echoes a bit.  
“Eh, I s’pose.”  
“What about?”  
“She wants me to date her friend, and I’m not interested.”  
“Right. Funny.” There’s no laugh to Horan’s voice, though. “You sure you okay?”  
Louis breathes out his drag in a huff.  
“Why is everyone so damn worried about me? Is something going on that I’m not aware of?”  
Horan does actually laugh this time, raising a hand in surrender.  
“Hey, hey, calm down, I was just asking. You’ve just been a bit…different. I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”  
“Well, I’m fine,” Louis says obstinately. He’s two seconds from crossing his arms.  
“Just tryna watch out for you, mate,” Horan says, patting his arm, still half-talking into the garbage. Louis laughs, appreciating the irony of the situation, and runs his fingers through Horan’s hair affectionately.  
“You’re a good one, bud.”  
“Ah, fuck,” Horan gets out, and then starts retching again. Louis moves his hand to his back and rubs absentmindedly. It’s just as he’s grinding out his cigarette on the bottom of his Vans that he spots a Range Rover cruising up to the curb and his phone starts buzzing in his pocket. He waves at it and the buzzing stops.  
Horan is still mid-yarf, so Louis pats him on the back a couple times and says, “Later, dude!” hoping that’ll suffice as a goodbye  
Louis crosses and yanks open the door to see – Liam. Brilliant, beautiful Liam, in sweats and looking sleepy but jubilant. Louis hauls himself up into the passenger seat and yanks the door shut, leaning over to kiss Liam before he can help himself.  
“Congrats, Liam. Really.”  
“Oh, don’t get sappy on me now,” Liam says, red blossoming on his cheeks as he pulls back out into traffic. “But thanks. Really.” He smiles over at Louis and Louis could burst, he honestly could. “Now, let’s get home.”

It’s strange, directing Liam to park in the guest spots in his parking lot, grabbing Liam’s game bag and insisting that he carries it for Liam up to the room, leading him across the parking lot. They don’t touch until they’ve safely made it into the elevator, but then Liam crowds him up against the back wall and kisses him gently, twining their fingers together.  
“I’m so happy I’m here.”  
“I’m happy you’re here.” Louis squeezes his hand, biting back the torrential wave of fondness that’s about to overtake him. It’s ridiculous, it’s all ridiculous.  
“Why is it always you making the outrageous late-night drive to me, huh?” Louis says, gently depositing Liam’s bag in his front hall and toeing off his shoes. “Will you let me one of these days?”  
“You’re welcome to anytime, you goon,” Liam says, catching Louis around the waist and tugging him back. Louis goes without any semblance of a fight, twisting toward Liam and snuggling into his neck. It’s crazy how safe he feels there. “But I’m glad I got to do some grand romantic gesture this round. Even if it was just driving.” Liam smudges a kiss under Louis’ ear.  
Louis inhales, forcing himself to not get dizzy with it.  
“Excuse me, Liam Payne,” he says, attempting every air of bravado. “But don’t you have some victory sex to get to?”  
With that, Liam growls in the back of his throat and bites where he just kissed.  
“You’re correct at that one, Tommo.”  
“Well, gee, we might as well –“  
Mid-sentence, Liam lifts Louis by the back of the thighs and carries him through the hall, taking the turn gracefully and lowering Louis onto the middle of his massive bed. Louis breathes out, already getting hard, and twisting to pull off his shirt while Liam shucks himself out of his hoodie and sweatpants.  
“No, no, no,” Liam taunts as Louis reaches for his flies. “Let me help here.”  
Louis tosses his head back as Liam traces his happy trail with his tongue, dragging his zipper down centimeter by centimeter.  
“Fu-u-uck, Li, don’t tease,” Louis whines, toeing off his socks as Liam sneaks a hand in his pants, tracing the outline of his dick through his boxers.  
“I’ll do what I want, thanks,” Liam says, shooting a cheeky smile at Louis as he kisses the head of his clothed dick. Louis hisses. “Someone’s needy.”  
That just makes Louis harder, a moan biting at the back of his throat as he squirms under Liam’s touch.  
“Ye-yeah, yeah I am, fuck…”  
Liam laces his fingers in Louis’ belt loops, tugging down only a half-inch at a time.  
“Needy for…?”  
“You,” Louis answers in a heartbeat. “You, your hands, your dick, oh my go-o-o-d –“ The last of it is lost as Louis boxers go with his jeans, finally freeing his dick. But Liam is still staring into Louis’ face, traces of awe there. Liam leans down to breathe over Louis’ dick and Louis bites his lip hard to stop from making some terribly embarrassing high-pitched sound.  
“I never knew how much you liked this,” Liam says, still sounding more wondering than anything.  
“I- I do. I do a lot,” Louis supplies, his arms still flopped above his head, twitching with the effort not to reach down and finish himself in two seconds flat. Liam seems to notice this too. He scooches up a foot or so, and loosely grabs Louis’ wrists in his left hand. (Louis resolutely does not think about how Liam can easily hold both of his wrists in one hand. He does not.)  
“Is this okay?” Liam’s eyes are searching, boring right into Louis’.  
“Yes,” Louis breathes, not sure if he could physically get any harder.  
“And you’ll tell me if it becomes not-okay?”  
Louis exhales again, eyes fluttering shut for a half-second before jerking open again.  
“Yes. I will. I swear.”  
With that, Liam’s grip tightens and Louis cries out, bleary with how good it is.  
Liam’s knuckle drags against the bottom of his cock, now out in the open and so, so hard.  
“God, you’re so pretty. So pretty and so hard for me.”  
Louis squirms under the attention and realizes how little he can move with Liam holding him down like this. He squints his eyes shut even tighter and a tear or two comes out.  
“How do you want me?” Louis asks, and god, his voice already sounds so wrecked.  
Liam considers for a second, still barely touching Louis’ cock, before saying, “Ride me.”  
Liam releases his wrists and Louis rolls over to the bedside table, pulling out the lube and a couple of condoms. He turns to hand the lube to Liam, but Liam just flops against the pillows on headboard.  
“Why don’t you do it? Go on, give me a show.”  
Louis smirks. This is a challenge he can accept and conquer. He pulls his jeans and boxers the rest of the way off and kneels so he’s bracketing Liam’s hips – giving Louis a fantastic view of Liam’s carved-by-gods six pack, but that’s not the point. He squirts lube onto two of his fingers – a couple dots dropping down onto Liam’s belly, oh well – and works them inside himself. Thank god for his thighs, is all he has to say. He balances just a few inches off Liam, legs spread wide, working himself open with his head tossed back, his whole body on display. After he adds a third finger, he feels Liam gripping the curve of his knees and smiles, eyes still closed.  
“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” Liam says at last, when Louis is more than ready. “Looks like we’ve got an exhibitionist on our hands, don’t we?”  
“Just for you, babe,” Louis says, and ducks in to sneak a kiss on Liam’s nose. He’s awful, he really is.  
Liam sighs with him, though, and reaches for a condom. Half a minute later, Louis is sliding onto Liam’s dick and he really can’t believe it. They’ve had sex enough that he always knows it’s going to be good, but it somehow gets better every time. He rests his hands on the top of Liam’s ribcage, just beneath his pecs and marvels at all the muscle rippling underneath him.  
“You’re so fucking hot, Li. It’s unfair.”  
Liam laughs, a big belly laugh, and it does wonderful shifty things to all of Louis.  
“Same to you, Louis. I love it.”  
Louis can feel himself going pink, but instead he just starts to work himself over Liam’s cock. With that, Liam’s the one throwing his head back, hissing, “Fuck…” and Louis gets every inch of dirty satisfaction from being able to do this to him.  
Neither of them can last, so it’s quick and dirty from the start. Louis sets the speed and groans when Liam starts touching him almost immediately.  
“God, Li, I just…”  
“Don’t, not yet…” Louis pulls his eyes open to see Liam, brow furrowed in concentration, one hand on Louis’ cock and one hand keeping rhythm with his hips.  
“Please, Liam, please…”  
“You can hold out, I know you can.”  
Louis lets out a long, low whine, shifting his hands from Liam’s chest to either side of him, changing the angle again.  
“Please, I just –“  
“Fu-uck, Louis…” With that, Liam is thrusting once, twice, and coming, pulling himself up so he can rest his forehead on Louis’ collarbone. Three breaths later, he’s whispering, “Okay.”  
Louis comes in an instant, no thought given to Liam’s hand still working him or the softening cock inside him. He spills over both their chests and bellies, coughing a couple times and he tries to breathe deeply. He knew those cigarettes were a mistake.  
“Goddammit,” Liam says, flopping back once they’ve caught up with themselves. “If I keep having sex like this I’m gonna die prematurely, I swear.”  
Louis laughs at him and slowly peels himself up, stepping over to the bathroom for a damp washcloth. He wipes both of them down, erupting into peals of giggles when Liam starts tickling him and eventually just tossing the cloth back toward the bathroom as Liam grabs him around the waist and pulls him back toward the bed. Liam yanks the covers up around them, snuggling Louis close and planting kisses everywhere he can reach.  
“That was like, really good,” Louis says to the ceiling, letting out another giggle as Liam ghosts his fingers over his ribs.  
“I’m glad. I enjoyed it too, if you didn’t notice.”  
“Well, good,” Louis adds, laughing again. “Now, turn off the light so we can get some fucking sleep.”  
Liam groans but obliges, and Louis falls asleep with Liam snuffling in his ear, his huge, strong arms wrapped so tightly around Louis, it’s hard to imagine what waking up alone feels like. 

Louis wakes up, splayed across Liam’s broad chest, hearing the rumble of his voice through his ribs.  
“Look, Styles, I’m sorry I didn’t stick around after press…I was just, I dunno, I wanted to be alone.”  
Liam’s valiantly trying to half-whisper, and it’s only sort of working. Louis, nosy as always, lays still as the conversation continues.  
“I’m fine, really, I’m okay. You know me, afterparties aren’t my thing. I just wanted to go home and start prepping for the next series.”  
Louis shifts slightly and snuffles, hoping he can still pass it off as a sleep move. Liam runs his fingers through Louis’ hair and it’s everything Louis can do not to purr.  
“I know, I know, I won’t do it again. Or, at least, I’ll give you a heads up. I’ll see you tomorrow for practice, okay?”  
There’s another pause. Louis forces himself to keep breathing evenly.  
“No, I don’t think I’ll be free tonight – I have a friend in town. Tomorrow, though, really. Yeah, see ya later, bye bye.”  
He hangs up the phone with a click and tenderly deposits it on the end table, just as Louis say, “Your wingman okay?”  
Liam jolts and grabs his chest.  
“Christ almighty, Lou, I thought you were dead asleep.”  
Louis looks up, planting his chin on the center of Liam’s sternum. He smiles. “Nope. Kinda hard when I have my ear pressed to your throat while you talk.”  
Liam mumbles something that sounds like, “It was my chest, not my throat…” but Louis cuts him off.  
“Styles?”  
With a sigh, Liam rolls over, wrapping an arm tightly around Louis as he goes.  
“I kinda bailed on the team last night. Not my best move.”  
Louis’ mouth twitches.  
“I mean, it means a lot to me that you came…”  
Liam kisses the back of his neck, then his spine, then his shoulder.  
“Shhh, I don’t regret a thing.” Another few kisses, then a giggle. “Lou, I can physically feel you regretting this, stop it.”  
Louis laughs in spite of himself, then turns in Liam’s arms to face him.  
“I know, I just…your team always needs to come first. I know we both know that, but…”  
“Will you hush?” Liam kisses him on the nose, then pulls him tighter into a hug. “We’re both married to this game, I know neither of us is gonna do anything stupid. If I would’ve just said goodbye to Styles last night, I wouldn’t have gotten a call. Now, will you please lighten up and take a steam with me?”  
Louis smiles, mischievous glint back in his eye. “Only if I can blow you while we do so.”  
“Oh, it would just be rude to deny such a request,” says Liam, and the two of them race to the bathroom.

A few hours and a couple orgasms later, Louis’ watching Liam making him breakfast, perched on his massive island and dangling his legs over the edge. Liam fusses around the kitchen, clad only in a pair of Louis’ sweatpants. (Louis hasn’t thought about how they _barely_ fit him, how they’re an inch too short and cling to his butt just perfectly. Seriously, he hasn’t.) His hair’s still tousled and drying from the steam and Louis wants to reach up and curl it with his fingers.  
“You have a much better stocked kitchen than I’d expect,” Liam says, face tucked into the fridge.  
“What, you think I just sit around and eat cereal?”  
“Pretty much.” He ducks back out of the fridge, clutching a rainbow stack of peppers and grinning. “Not that I’m complaining.”  
“I do have an excellent stock of cereals, by the way,” Louis counters, grabbing a cutting board, knife and pepper and beginning to chop. “But I have branched my cooking out a bit in the offseason.”  
“Well, you’ll have to treat me to dinner sometime.” Does Liam ever stop smiling? Louis hopes not. He could look at him smiling forever. God, he’s soppy.  
“I’d love to do that,” Louis says, softer than before. Liam leans in for a kiss, and Louis accepts.  
There’s a minute or two of near-silence while the two of them dice vegetables, and then Louis speaks again.  
“I never ended up asking…how did telling your mom go?”  
“Oh, um…” Liam darts back to the fridge and returns with a case of eggs. “Good, I guess. I mean, she’s a little edgy since she doesn’t know who, but…”  
A pang of guilt shoots through Louis and he knows he made a mistake asking this. Yet, he can’t get himself to shut up.  
“I’m – I’m sorry, Li. I wish…I wish I could – “  
Liam has a bowl now, and is methodically cracking eggs into it. His voice cuts over Louis’ bumbling.  
“Please don’t apologize, Lou. I’m never, ever going to force you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. And I don’t blame you for not wanting to go public with this.” Liam grabs a whisk and starts beating the eggs, with maybe a touch too much vigor. “I just…ever since I came out, she’s been really worried about me, and I bet she thinks you’re some kind of multi-trillion dollar actor or something…”  
“Your…your mom knows you’re gay?”  
Liam looks nonplussed.  
“Uh…yeah?”  
Another full moment of silence.  
“Wait, your mom _doesn’t_ know you’re gay?”  
Louis stares resolutely at his peppers and knocks his ankles against the cupboards below him.  
“Not…not exactly, no.”  
“But…you told me you were really close with your family.”  
Louis closes his eyes. He remembers that conversation very well, actually. It was maybe the fifth or sixth time they slept together, after they had already established the secrecy, the rhythm of sneaking into one another’s lives. Liam had a travel day he could route through Boston as Louis had a home game. They had fucked until midnight, then stayed up until dawn talking. Louis remembers being afraid to fall asleep, afraid to let him sleep in his apartment. But by the time Liam got him talking about his family, his mom, his sisters, there was no way he was letting up.  
“I am. I just don’t think they could handle this kind of…secret.”  
Liam hums, still looking at Louis, but Louis won’t make eye contact. He goes back to chopping. Next thing he knows, Liam is pressed up against his legs, hands pressed into the counter and bracketing him in. Louis quietly loves this, feeling closed in, but only by Liam.  
“Lou, seriously. I’m okay with whatever you want to do. Whenever you want to do it. I’ll be here.”  
There’s a lump in Louis’ throat.  
“…Thank you. For everything.”  
Liam kisses his forehead. “Always, you big dumb idiot. Now, what do you want in your omelette?”

They spend all day lounging around, watching Netflix and eating butter-free popcorn out of a trough-sized bowl Louis has for just this sort of occasion. Every teammate has taken it upon themselves to text Louis about how hungover they are, with the exception of Horan. It’s not like he could see him, anyway – he’s bent on seeing nothing but Liam until he has to return tomorrow morning for practice. Louis already attempted to make him leave tonight, since he has a four hour drive and needs to be in the gym by 10 a.m., but Liam’s stubborn when he wants to be. He ends the argument with, “Louis, this morning was the first time I’ve actually gotten to wake up with you in ages. Let me have one more, yeah?” And, well, how is Louis supposed to counter that?  
So it’s almost seven by the time Louis works up the courage again.  
“Do you…think we could go out to dinner?”  
Liam looks up from his phone, a stitch between his brows.  
“What, like pick up food? I dunno, what are you in the mood for?”  
“No, I mean like…get dinner. Nice dinner, somewhere.”  
He’s positively too adorable when he’s confused. It’s sickening.  
“But…Lou, we’ll be seen.”  
“Maybe not?”  
Louis crawls up over where their legs are tangled together on the couch and into Liam’s lap.  
“I want to treat you somewhere for your win,” Louis says, pressing a kiss to Liam’s cheekbone, “and show you how much I care about you,” with another kiss to the opposite cheek, “and maybe lure you to bed after, if I’m lucky.”  
“If _you’re_ lucky, huh,” Liam breathes. He’s running his fingers up the back of Louis’ bare thighs and Louis could shiver with it. “Well, what’s your plan, smart stuff?”  
Louis grins and snuggles in a bit more. “I happen to know a place.”

He’s not very proud of how he knows the place – it took a call to one of his lothario teammates, but he hopes it’ll be worth it. The guy has about ten girlfriends – all more or less secret from his wife, but more importantly, secret from the press. There’s a place in the North End with a private upstairs room, separate entrance, and a waitress used to singing NDAs. And, they were willing to book short notice for tonight, once Louis’ manager said that Louis would eat there with half the team middle of next week.  
So Louis navigates the back streets in his Lexus, holding Liam’s hand at stoplights and trying not to look over at him too much. It’s really the first time they’ve ever had an actual date, but neither of them have brought that up yet.  
As he pulls into the reserved parking space at the back of the building, Liam zips his coat up to his nose and pulls on a hat. In late April, he looks a touch ridiculous, but it’s still passable. Louis squeezes his hand one more time and they dodge out of the car and up the back stairs.  
As soon as he’s let in, Louis knows he’s made the right choice. The entire upstairs is smaller than his living room and covered in twinkle lights, with one table for two in the center. A full wall of windows faces the street below and people are shuffling up and down, darting in and out of bars.  
“Can I take your coat, Mr. Tomlinson?” The waitress takes Louis’ suitcoat and Liam’s winter jacket and leaves them to settle. Both Louis and Liam stare at each other for a minute.  
“So, who gets whose chair?” Louis jokes, and Liam smiles at him before kissing his cheek.  
“Get your own chair, you doofus,” Liam mutters, but Louis still races to pull Liam’s out with a flourish. He laughs and takes it, while Louis sits opposite.  
“Would you like the window shades closed?” the waitress asks, and Louis hastens to tell her no.  
“Actually, is there any chance we can sit closer without...being seen?”  
She smiles and gestures to a mark on the floor.  
“We can move the chair up to this point and you can still be out of the sightline.”  
“These guys think of everything,” Liam whispers as they slide the table over and sit, elbow to elbow this time.  
“Worth it, huh?” Louis says, and picks up his menu.  
Safe to say, their collective diets are off for tonight. Liam does his best to choose something reasonable for dinner, pleading about the terrifying defense he has to go up against in four days, but Louis tempts him with some goat cheese crostini appetizer, feeding it to Liam while he blubbers about carbs. They tangle their feet together under the table and people-watch. When Liam tries to pull away as their waitress checks on them - no, they still haven’t decided on entrees yet, they’re sorry - Louis whispers that she’s signed an NDA, they should be safe. Liam runs his fingers through his own hair, grinning, before grabbing Louis’ hand back. They each have a glass of wine - Liam talks Louis out of ordering them the whole bottle - and, by the time they finally pick out dinner, Liam is drawing tight little circles on Louis’ knee and talking fondly about the team, his family, Louis’ family, everything. Once food comes, it’s actually quiet. Louis tries and fails to twirl his pasta elegantly while Liam laughs at him. By the time dessert is served - some all-too-fancy version of a lava cake, and Louis can’t help thinking that Domino’s does it just as well - Louis is tipsy, either off the wine or endearment, he’s not sure. The two of them almost fight over the check, before Louis insists that this is to congratulate Liam on the win, and can he just let him have this one thing? Liam’s jaw is still set as Louis tips generously and signs his name at the bottom, but then Louis kisses him and he loosens, a bit.  
“I’m gonna grab a cigarette, do you want to wait here or in the car?”  
Liam gives him a reproachful look, then says, “I’ll come with you.”  
Louis rolls his eyes and the two of them head out the door and down the stairs, Liam tossing his jacket over his shoulder. It’s as Louis is pulling out his pack at the base of the staircase that he hears his name.  
“Tommo! Is that you?”  
Louis honest-to-god jumps out of surprise, dropping the cigarettes and jerking his head around. Through the alley, he sees Malik and Perrie, hands raised in greeting. In the same moment, he twirls to see Liam heading out of the parking lot and around the corner, head down.  
“What are you doing here?” Malik asks, oblivious to what he’s walked into.  
“I...uh...a date. Just finished up a date,” Louis stumbles, wondering where Liam is going, if he’ll be spotted, if something will somehow connects them.  
“A date, huh? Who’s the lucky lady?” Malik and Perrie walk closer and Louis wishes the ground could just swallow him whole.  
“She left already,” he says in a rush.  
“Aw, well that’s a bummer - I’d love to meet the girl that’s been driving you crazy the last few weeks.” Malik bumps his shoulder and grins, and Louis contorts his face into what he hopes is close to a smile. “We’re about to go grab a drink, you want to come with?”  
“Ah, no way dude - still getting over the hangover,” Louis says, forcing out a laugh.  
Malik nods knowingly and throws an arm around Perrie.  
“Gotcha. Well, if you ever feel like introducing us to the lucky lady, I’d love to tell her all your secrets.”  
“Ohhh, you wish,” Louis says, the irony a little too fresh for him.  
Malik and Perrie laugh one more time, heading off into the night as Louis clutches his cigarettes, wondering if it’s possible to smoke three at once. He lights just one up and pulls out his phone.  
_Coast is clear, come back_ he texts, leaning against his car as he waits. A few minutes later, Liam emerges from around the corner, jacket now on with his hood up. Wordlessly, he climbs into the car and Louis follows, stamping out the cigarette after only a few puffs.  
“Where did you go?” Louis asks frantically as soon as the doors click shut, already popping the car into reverse and turning out into the narrow street.  
“Just around the corner and into a liquor store. Pretended to browse until you texted me.”  
“Did anyone see you?”  
“Does it matter? I wasn’t with you.” Liam’s voice comes out icy and Louis huffs. There’s thirty more seconds of silence as he finally navigates to bigger roads, before Liam speaks again.  
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be angsty, or anything. It’s just...stressful.” Louis opens his mouth but Liam continues before he can cut in. “And by saying that, I’m not saying it’s not stressful for you, too. I just...it sucks. I’m just saying it sucks.”  
Louis licks his lips.  
“You’re right. It sucks.”  
“Good. We agree.”  
Yet, it doesn’t feel like it. 

As soon as they’re inside his apartment, Louis pulls Liam close, shuffling back into the wall of the hallway. He still can’t get over how his heart flip flops as he has to pop up on his toes to kiss Liam - that is, if Liam would actually kiss him back. Louis pulls away, looking up at Liam obstinately.  
“What’s up with you?”  
“I think we need to talk about before.”  
“What else is there to talk about?”  
“I don’t know. I’m just still thinking about it. And I thought you might be, too.”  
Louis sighs and thunks his head back against the wall. Of course, Liam would want to talk more about feelings.  
“I dunno, Li. We’re at a standstill, aren’t we. We’re hockey stars. There’s no way eyes won’t be on us, for the foreseeable future.”  
“I know,” Liam drawls, putting his forearm above Louis’ head (and Louis certainly isn’t getting distracted by the flex of his bicep as he does it, no sir). “I just…”  
A second or two passes, and Louis is too curious for his own good.  
“You’re just whaaaaat,” he says, tucking his hands in Liam’s back pockets and kissing him under the jaw. Liam giggles and Louis wishes he could make the sound his ringtone.  
“I don’t know. I wish stupid, dumb things.”  
“Tell me about them,” Louis says and begins frog-marching Liam backwards through the house.  
“I wish...we could go on vacation. Somewhere warm. And lie out by the pool all day with no one seeing.”  
“Mhm,” Louis agrees, taking the turn into the bedroom and making sure not to whack Liam’s elbow on the doorframe.  
“I wish...our schedules weren’t so crazy and we could see each other, like, more than twelve hours at a time.”  
Liam’s legs hit the edge of the bed, and he sits, bracketing Louis’ thighs with his knees. Louis runs a hand through his quiff, scratching at the base of his neck while Liam’s mouth drops open.  
“What else?”  
“Mmm...I think about you coming to see me play. Y’know, in person.”  
Louis’ hand stills in Liam’s hair.  
“You...what?”  
Liam strokes across Louis’ back, fingers light.  
“You coming and watching me play. Like, in a game. Cheering for me.”  
It crosses Louis’ mind a lot, too. Being able to sit in a box and watch Liam skate circles around his opponents in real life, not through some screen. Screaming for him on a breakaway. Catching up with him in his suit after press, giving him a kiss on the cheek for all the cameras. Walking to his car, hand in hand.  
“Yeah, that’d be...that’d be awesome, wouldn’t it?” Louis does his best to keep the quiver out of his voice, but he sees Liam’s glance shift. Fuck. “But you know what I wish?”  
Liam’s face breaks into a smile again.  
“What?”  
Louis plants a knee on the bed, looming over Liam and puts his mouth right next to his ear.  
“I wish I could be inside you, like, yesterday.”  
Liam let out a whoosh of breath and yanks Louis with him as he falls backwards, the serious talk done for the night. 

The next few days go quickly for Louis. Liam had left the morning after the dinner, with a kiss and a promise he’d be back soon. Louis had grabbed him, kissed him again and whispered, “Hopefully not _too_ soon,” and Liam and just laughed. But Louis meant it - as much as he wanted Liam around more, he knew that he’d only get Liam back after the season was over. Which meant getting through the upcoming semi-finals _and_ finals...or a loss. But Louis wasn’t thinking about that. He spent the rest of the week attempting to distract himself with the gym and more cooking and the fact that Horan hasn’t been responding to his texts.  
That is, until it was finally the first day of the semi-finals and Louis hadn’t worked up the courage to try and watch with anyone. So he ends up sitting on the edge of his island, feet twitching against a stool and eating cereal straight from the box. He had decided to make cheesecake for the first time that afternoon but didn’t realize you needed to refrigerate it _overnight_ , so he’s left with snacking as his dinner. Not that he minds. It’s much easier to frantically grab Captain Crunch by the handful as he watches Liam skate his way through the first period than it would be to have to focus himself on making something.  
Liam, as always, is incredible. Louis narrowly avoids eating his own fingers as he watches Liam score two goals in the first period and knock in a third only a minute after the first intermission. He sheepishly skates around the multitude of hats being thrown on the ice as the announcers argue over how amazing he is.  
“Payne really has grown this year, it’s just incredible. The team under his care looks like a completely different set of Rangers.”  
“I agree, Bob, and his stats are nothing to sniff at. Though I have to say, you’d be hard-pressed to find a more rock-steady captain than Liam Payne.”  
Louis buries his face in his hands and breathes. He’s so gone for him he could burst. That’s _his_ boyfriend up there, shaking his head and honest-to-God giggling while refs toss hats off the ice and resume play.  
The game ends - a shutout, six to nothing, breaking a few records for semi-finals - and Louis tucks himself under a blanket to watch the postgame show. Liam got in the habit of calling him after games and Louis hopes it can continue. But for now, he’s happy to watch replay after replay of his gorgeous boy.  
He feels like he just closes his eyes during commercial breaks, but soon he’s jolting awake with this phone buzzing.  
“H’lo?” he answers, rubbing his face with one hand.  
“Hey darling.” It feels as though it’s been years since Louis heard Liam’s voice and Louis’ heart stutters.  
“You looked amazing,” Louis says before he can stop himself. “Like, really, really incredible.”  
“Thanks, babe.” Liam’s whispering for some reason, but he still sounds pleased.  
“Everything okay?” Louis bounds off the island and walks around to the fridge, phone balanced between his shoulder and his ear.  
“Yeah yeah, I’m just still in the locker room.”  
Louis heart clenches. He wants to jump in about how dangerous that is, how they could easily be overheard, how he’s certain that someone could make out from one end of Liam’s conversation that he’s somehow talking to number 28 of the Boston Bruins...but the other part of him can’t believe that Liam didn’t even wait until he was showered, out of press and in his car to call. He snuggles deeper into his nest of pillows and blankets on the couch, and curls around the phone.  
“Oh?”  
Liam snickers again. “Yeah. That okay?”  
“That’s...fine. It’s fine.” Louis can’t ever remember a time when his voice was smaller. “Did I tell you you’re amazing? You’re amazing.”  
“Love, you’re gonna give me a big head here, if you keep on like this.” Liam laughs again and Louis feels like he’s going to throw up out of sheer fondness. There’s a shuffle on Liam’s end, then and Louis can hear him cover the receiver for a second before coming back.  
“Oh shit, babe, I’ve got to do some press. Call you back?”  
“Mhm,” Louis mumbles, fighting a smile. The line clicks blank and Louis stretches, twisting to see Liam’s face take up the screen of his television. There he is, stripping off his skates, and Louis can see his phone sitting next to him. If he had looked up two seconds before, he probably would’ve gotten to see Liam hang up. Louis wonders if that’s why he called. Before he can think too much though, he rolls over again, falling into the deepest of sleeps. 

Louis has just poured himself a bowl of cereal the next morning when he starts scrolling through Twitter. He barely ever tweets - and purposefully deletes all his social media apps when the season starts - but he likes catching up on news most mornings. That is, until he sees a post from one of those gossip sports websites.

**LIAM PAYNE HAS A NEW BEAU? SEEMS SO…**

His fingers feel numb, but he still clicks the link before he can stop himself.

_Record-setting Rangers captain Liam Payne was caught up yesterday as press approached him for an interview. The 27-year-old forward had just scored a hat trick in their playoff game, but was a little busy talking to some special lady. We heard words like “love” and “babe” dropped a couple times before he could find a minute to talk to ESPN, plus he seemed pretty enveloped in his phone afterward. Who could it be? Payne is known to be exceptionally closed-off during his off-season, rarely spotted out on the town. But, after this incredible playoff bid, we all know he deserves a little extra loving._

Louis is speechless. The rational side of his brain says it’s nothing - hell, they identified him as a “special lady” - but he still sees headlines flash before his eyes, promising that he’ll never play hockey again, that no teammate will ever speak to him again, that everything he’s spent the last 20 years of his life working for is for nothing. He slips off his chair and slides slowly to the floor, feeling a little more in control on the ground. Does he text Liam? Horan? Malik?  
He laughs, feeling a little extra empty. He doesn’t want to psych Liam out before his game, and it’s not like he could text Horan or Malik out of nowhere and say, “oh, lol, look at this press outlet thinking that Liam is dating a woman - jokes! It’s actually me!”  
Well, he contemplates it for a second, but no, no he can’t.  
Eyes back to his phone, he checks every other outlet that regularly posts sports gossip. Only a couple others have reported anything - there’s barely anything to report, after all - and only the first website had the details of him calling the “special lady” “love” and “babe.” Louis arches up, clawing around for his cereal bowl and grabbing a handful of Fruit Loops and shoving them into his mouth. Just then, the doorbell rings.  
Sock-footed, he pads down the hall and opens the door to a surly UPS guy who wordlessly holds out a form for him to sign and hands him a package in return.  
“Thanks,” Louis mutters as the guy grunts and turns on his heel. Walking back to his kitchen, he tears open the small box to reveal tissue paper and a note on top.

_Figured if you’d be watching the rest of my games, you might as well need some apparel. Hope it’s not too painful to wear ;) Miss you, xoxo Liam_

Louis sinks into the couch, pulling out an away Ranger jersey, “PAYNE” stitched clearly on the back above the number 11.  
He’s so, so fucked. 

Louis watches the second game in just his new jersey and a pair of black boxers, making chicken with cream sauce on the stovetop facing the television. (Every day he pats himself on the back for picking this kitchen. Every day.) This round, it’s the Styles kid that takes the stage. He’s one of the few players that puts his emphasis on skating, making plays by intercepting passes rather than by throwing his weight around. (Not that he has a lot of weight to accomplish that.) Styles pokes two in through the first two period (with Liam assisting on the second), and the Rangers head into second intermission up 2 - 1.  
By this point, Louis has finished his chicken and is contemplating dessert when the doorbell rings. He pauses for a moment and checks his watch, then his phone. No one has texted - he’d been checking his phone constantly the last few days, wondering at what point he should get worried he hasn’t heard from Malik or Horan. To be safe, he strips off his jersey and shoves it under one of the couch cushions, heading to the door in just his boxers.  
On cue, it’s Malik and Horan. Both glance at his (lack of) apparel, then back up at his face.  
“You alright bro?” Horan asks, skittering through the entrance and down the hall. “Heat’s not broken or something?” He laughs awkwardly, then perches on the edge of the couch, and fidgets.  
“No,” shouts Louis, detouring into the bedroom for a sweater. “Just hot.” He pokes both his arms through and strides back into the kitchen as he pulls it over his head. “And you two...okay?”  
Horan has so little of his body balanced on the arm of the couch Louis’ surprised he hasn’t fallen over. Malik is standing against the floor-to-ceiling windows showing off the balcony, but not touching anything. They’ve been to his apartment thousands of times - have slept in his bed some of them - and he’s never seen them like this.  
“Yeah! Yeah yeah yeah, we’re fine, we’re fine,” Horan babbles, somehow picking at his cuticles, scratching his arm and staring wildly around the room, all at the same time. Louis glances over at Malik, who is giving his rapt attention to a dust speck on the floor.  
“Ooooookay. Well, let me know if you’d like any chicken. Sorry I didn’t cook for a crowd.”  
In the dead silence, Louis loads up a plate and settles himself on the couch.  
“You guys can, um, join me?”  
“Sure, uhh, yeah, yeah we can,” blabbers Horan, folding himself ten different ways on the couch arm and bouncing his leg up and down once he settles. “See, um, we came here, cause…”  
“Are you gay?”  
It’s quiet, even and tempered. And it comes from Malik.  
Louis didn’t think the room could get any quieter, but it somehow does. He slowly puts his plate of chicken on the end table and turns to Malik.  
“... _What?_ ”  
“Are. You. Gay.” Malik’s eyes are closed now, but his voice is still so calm.  
“I’m...I...what are you…what the fuck?” Before he can stop himself, he leaps to his feet, standing in front of them. “You don’t talk to me for however-many weeks, and then you, you waltz in here and ask me _this_? What are you doing?”  
“You still haven’t answered the question, dude.” This time it’s from Horan, who is now examining his nails as if his life depends on it.  
Louis’ breath catches in this throat. He could just...lie. Just rib the shit out of them for even asking. Just pretend like it’s all some joke. But...he needs to know.  
“Would it matter?” Louis’ staring down Horan, but this answer comes from Malik.  
“Not even a little bit.” Still so deep and so slow. Louis’ head jerks back over to him, and this time he’s actually looking up, huge brown eyes boring into Louis. “Not even close.”  
“Then why ask?” Louis can feel his tenor rising, getting squeakier by the second.  
Malik walks across the room, putting his broad hand on Louis’ shoulder.  
“Because we thought you might want someone to talk to. And because we have a guess and who you might be with.” Malik looks back then, eyes darting to the television, where the camera is panning to Liam on the bench, smiling and taking a gulp of water.  
“I...we…” Louis’ legs seem to just wrinkle beneath him, and he curls into the center of the couch. “How? We were...so careful.”  
Malik slides down next to him, taking Louis’ head in his lap and stroking his fingers through his hair.  
“Horan might’ve been puking up a lung during that party, but he still got a pretty good peek at you climbing into his car. He thought he was seeing things...until I ran into the guy after bumping into you in the North End.”  
“Seriously, bro, we don’t mind at all.” Horan grabs Louis’ foot in a weirdly comforting gesture. “It doesn’t change anything. We just want you to be happy.”  
On top of everything, tears prick into Louis’ eyes. He buries his head into Malik’s thigh.  
“We just...weren’t sure what was going on,” says Malik. “If he’s...okay. If you can trust him.”  
“I can trust him!” Louis’ voice comes out muffled and a bit hysterical, but he’s already losing every part of himself tonight, why not give up the last bit of his dignity, too. He can practically feel Malik and Horan exchanging a look over him.  
“Are you two…together?” asks Malik, hesitation laced in every syllable.  
Louis nods.  
Breathlessly, Horan follows with, “For how long?”  
“Officially? Since we got knocked out of the playoffs.” There’s another pause. Louis sniffs.  
“And unofficially?” says Malik, obviously curious now.  
Louis attempts to shrug and fails. “...About a year.” He feels defeated and reflects that talking about your boyfriend to your best friends shouldn’t feel this way. Then he realizes that it’s more “confessing your sexuality and secret boyfriend to your best friends,” and figures it’s just about in line.  
“Uh...huh.” Malik isn’t judging - Louis can tell from the lilt of his voice - just...considering. He considers a lot of things.  
They all rest for a second, one big amoeba of limbs. Louis isn’t sure what he’s feeling - relief? Stress? Joy? He settles on “drained” and heaves out another sigh into Malik’s leg. Thighs tight with muscle aren’t very snuggly, but it also reminds him of Liam for a second and, well, let’s not go there now.  
After a few minutes, Malik reaches forward and unmutes the television as they start the third period. Louis shifts in both their arms to face the screen, and they all watch in eerie silence as the third period begins. It’s only when Horan finally succumbs to the smell of Louis’ chicken and gets up to serve himself that he catches his hand on something in the couch.  
“What’s this?”  
Louis’ mouth opens but no sound comes out.  
“Is this…?” Horan gives the fabric a good yank, and Liam’s jersey comes free. Wordlessly, Niall holds it out, twists it twice to give it a good show.  
“Holy fuck, dude -” Malik starts, while Louis holds his breath, squints. “You are... _so. fucking. whipped!_ ”  
With a booming laugh, Malik shoves him off his lap and dives for the jersey.  
“Loooooooooook, I’m Louis, in love with a CAPTAIN of a team, ooo la la!” Malik tries to throw it over his head but can’t, due to laughing too hard. Horan grabs it back and holds it against himself, dramatically holding out a sleeve and adopt a gloriously high voice.  
“But when will my dearest Payn-sie return from the game? I have such sweet lovemaking to give him in return for putting up with me, a shitstain!”  
Louis’ on the floor now, eyes wet with tears and clutching his sides. It’s as if he had been holding back every laugh around them for a year and they returned with 100% force in this moment.  
Now Malik has made his way into the jersey and is doing an (unknowingly) amazing impersonation of Louis during sex while Horan spanks him with a couch cushion.  
“Oh! Payno! You know nothing gets me harder than your shooting percentage!”  
They’re all so busy laughing they don’t even notice when Liam scores, bringing the game to 3 - 1 in the final minutes. By the time postgame starts, Malik is lighting a joint and Horan has popped one of the leftover bottles of champagne from their last house party.  
“What’s the occasion?” asks Louis, graciously accepting the j from Malik.  
“You coming out, or whatever,” says Horan. He pours the champagne into mismatched mugs from one of the forgotten cupboards and passes it down the line.  
Louis accepts his and takes a deep breath.  
“But...I’m not. Like, I really, really don’t want anyone to know.”  
He looks up to see Malik and Horan, both a little horrified.  
“Wait, no, like...I’m really happy you guys know. I didn’t like keeping it a secret from you. But...I don’t feel like the team would get it.”  
Guiltily, Horan nods and Malik takes another hit.  
“And...I really feel like the National Hockey League wouldn’t get it. Like, would opposite of get it.”  
“Fuck man, you’re right - I wasn’t thinking -”  
“No, it’s fine!” Louis gulps his champagne before going back to explaining. “Like, I can’t say enough how happy I am you guys know. I just would really appreciate you staying the only ones who know.”  
There’s a pause, and Horan nods fervently. “You know I’ve got you, dude!”  
“I won’t even tell Per, if that’ll keep you happy,” says Malik, blowing a smoke ring. “Gotta say, still having a giggle over her flipping out at you during Horan’s party. Makes a whole lot more sense now.”  
“Right?” Louis is smiling again, bubbly like the champagne. As he gets up to turn the stereo on, his phone rings. Ah yes, his scheduled postgame call with Liam. He wiggles his phone at the guys and accepts the call as he steps out onto the balcony. They can survive without him for two minutes.  
“Hey babe,” Louis says, and it’s as if the whole day melts away.  
“Hey! Oh my gosh, what a game...sorry, I’m still, like, ringing.”  
Louis chuckles and runs a hand through his hair. If it was ten years ago, he’d be playing with the telephone cord.  
“I’m so happy for you, really. Are you still in the locker room?”  
Louis hears him shifting around for a minute, then:  
“Yeah, I think I’m the last one here, maybe. What’s up?”  
“I, um...I told Horan and Malik. About us.”  
There’s complete and total silence on the line. Louis can’t even hear him breathing.  
“I mean, they sort of found out. Horan saw you when you picked me up from the bar and Malik bumped into you in the North End.”  
Still, nothing.  
“But they’re not telling anyone! Haven’t told anyone. And, like, completely support us and whatnot. Even if you’re a Ranger.”  
Another beat.  
“Li, are you mad? I don’t...I’m sorry?”  
A whoosh of air comes down the line and Louis practically whinces.  
“Fuck, Lou, I’m not mad. Damn, you scared the shit out of me. _Open_ with ‘they haven’t told the press and they accept our relationship,’ why don’t ya?”  
Louis smacks a hand over his face and smiles.  
“Sorry, I’m a donut.”  
“You bet you are. Ugh. Alright, let me recover from that heart attack and I’ll get back to you…”  
Louis’ laughing now. He feels like he’s laughed a lot tonight.  
“Okay, okay, I gotta go pack up and get on the bus and everything. We only have a couple days off, otherwise I’d come see you.”  
“I know,” Louis says, biting his lip. “But stay, seriously, I don’t want you overworking yourself.”  
“Yeah, yeah, well...I hope I see you soon, one way or another. Say hi to the guys for me.”  
Louis glances back inside to see Horan and Malik reclining on the couch, pointing out replays from the game and laughing. He can properly say that to them now. _My boyfriend says hi._  
He grins. “Happily.”

 

It turns out games are way more fun to watch with company. Now that his secret is “out in the open” (to two more people), Louis can go back to normal - or, at least, his version of normal.  
“Are you trying to drown yourself in the shower, Malik?” Horan shouts down the empty locker room hallway, towel loosely hanging off his hips. “We have lunch reservations!”  
“Yeah, at _your_ bar, idiot,” Malik snaps back as Louis cackles. The three of them have gone back to working out together - something he didn’t realize how much he missed until they started doing it again. He was fully anticipating some weirdness when they all stripped down for showers after, but neither of them even hesitated. He has really amazing friends.  
Later that night, they pregame at Horan’s bar but retire to the back room to watch - mostly so they don’t arouse suspicion as sudden Rangers fans. Liam has an okay game, but that Styles kid is dynamite - it takes almost five minutes to restore calm after his hat trick. Louis buzzes with pride as Liam skates his final couple of minutes. The team only has to win tomorrow’s game, and they’ll have swept the series. And then they’ll be on to the final. The Stanley Cup.  
As the last buzzer rings, Louis sits back in the plush sofa and breathes. They’re so close. Just a few more games.  
“Whelp, your boyf did okay, Tommo,” Horan says, smacking him on the shoulder. “Gotta say, he needs a few more shots on goal before I’ll consider him marriage material, but…”  
Louis reaches his hand out to half-heartedly slap him. And promptly ignores how much his heart flutters at the term “marriage material.”  
They get trashed that night, mostly for something to do, and Louis sends a few X-rated texts to Liam in the cab back to his apartment. Li had already told him the team was going out so he’d have to postpone their call, but Louis thinks he could give him some imagery when he’s out with the team.  
The next morning, he wakes up to a voicemail that tells him he did the exact right thing. 

_what do you wanna do for the game tonight?_ is the text Malik sends around 6pm. And to be honest, Louis isn’t sure. He’s been waffling about it all day - literally, he bought the ingredients for chicken and waffles, and the chicken is already brining so he’s somewhat locked in - and can’t decide. Having the guys over again would be great, but he also has a fondness for the experience of the game alone. He likes being the only one in the world with Liam - or so it seems, in those moments he watches the game. Flopped over the edge of his couch, he sighs, shaking his head so his bangs flop back and forth.  
_might go at this one alone, champ. have fun with H for me._  
_will snap you the pukes!_ is Malik’s - for once - prompt reply.  
Later, when Louis is half-reading the instruction manual on his new wafflemaker and the sounds of pregame are filling his kitchen, his phone buzzes. Thinking Malik and Horan are already hammered, Louis picks it up without thinking.  
“Is H throwing up already?”  
“Louis? Is that you?”  
It’s Liam. His Liam. Louis checks his watch - it’s less than thirty minutes to gametime.  
“Wait, fuck, yeah - Li what’s wrong? Are you okay?”  
“I’m fine, babe, really.” It’s quiet in the background - Liam can’t be in the locker room.  
“Don’t you have a game to play in like a half hour?”  
“Yeah, but I wanted to talk to you.”  
Louis’ heart twists.  
“Okay…About anything in particular?”  
“Nope. Just wanted to hear your voice.”  
Louis hums and pulls out some bowls for waffle mix while they breathe down the line at each other.  
“You’re gonna do great, Liam. You know that.”  
“I know. I just...need you to ground me sometimes.”  
Louis barks out a laugh at that.  
“Leem, you’re one of the most grounded people I know. I don’t think you can get more grounded.”  
“What can I say, you have a peculiar effect on me.”  
“Oh my god - go win a hockey game, you big lug. Give Styles a slap for me.”  
“Gladly,” says Liam, moving around on his side of the line. “Miss you.”  
“Miss you too,” Louis says, voice coming out a whisper. The line clicks off and Louis turns up the volume on the television even louder. He needs to drown out his own thoughts sometimes.  
The game is…tight. Like, very tight. It’s obvious the other team has been studying tape - none of Styles’ tricks from the night before work, nor do any of Liam’s go-to plays. The defense for the Rangers needs work, too - they’re not nearly as crisp as they were previously. Louis waits until the first intermission - scoreless - to even attempt to fry the chicken, since he’s certain multitasking during the game would’ve certainly meant third-degree burns. He eats in under five minutes, opting instead to perch on the back of his couch and scream obscenities at everyone but Liam. First it’s Styles being ousted on a one-on-one matchup, then it’s their defenseman missing a check opportunity, then it’s the goalie letting the first point in. Louis buries himself in the couch so the neighbors won’t hear him scream. He looks up to see Liam comforting the line, giving their goalie a little bop on the head. He seems to center everyone in his orbit. Louis wants to get lost in it.  
The entire second period his heart lives in his throat, but they enter the intermission with the same score. Louis speed cleans the kitchen, teeth gritted and hoping their couch gives them hell in the locker room. They could have it cinched tonight if they just get back out and put in the hardest fifteen minutes of their lives, why won’t they see that? At one point, he has to sit back since he realizes he’s scrubbed the same six inches of countertop for five minutes straight. Stress gets to him sometimes.  
Unlike the second period, the third period he watches in total silence. At one point, he even mutes the TV since the commentary is getting too much for him. (No matter how much money they’d ever offer him, he’d never become a commentator. He can’t have that many bad opinions concentrated in one two-hour time period.) Liam looks like a bullet on the ice, skating complete circles around everyone else. Louis lives gasp to gasp. By the last five minutes, he feels completely lightheaded.  
Then, on a poke-check breakaway, Liam is off. Louis barely has time to leap off the couch before Liam flicks the puck just past the blue line and - schwoop - it sails over the goalie’s left skate. The stadium erupts, Louis along with it, throwing cushions and kicking his papers off the coffee table. Tied! With four minutes to go!  
“You can do this, Li, you got it, you got it,” Louis mumbles under his breath as the center ice faceoff starts. From the get-go, Liam controls the puck, swishing it around his opponent and heading straight toward enemy territory again. Halfway there, he’s tripped. Still, he dives forward, somehow still controlling the puck and giving it one last nudge. The opposing goalie timed everything wrong. Preparing himself for a collision, he put his weight back instead of forwad, letting the puck find its way right between his legs. And then, Liam crashes into him anyway. Pandamonium again, so much so that Louis has to unmute the TV just to hear the baffled responses from the reports.  
“Two goals in under ten seconds, this is simple unprecedented!”  
“Seems to have given the goalie quite a bump there, George, we’ll have to see if that’s a penalty -”  
“There’s no way it’s a fucking penalty, you twats!” Louis yells across the room. “The goal went in first!”  
Sometimes, it helps to have the handbook more or less memorized. Sometimes, it doesn’t.  
After much deliberation, the goal stands. They’re up, 2-1, all thanks to Liam. Just three minutes left.  
Louis sits, and waits, and watches.  
Liam isn’t on the ice when the clock runs out, but it doesn’t matter. They’ve won. They’re going to the Stanley Cup.  
Louis is a helluva lot lucky he has patient neighbors, since his yelling rings off the walls. 

It takes a full fifteen minutes of deep breathing for him to calm down. He can’t believe it. His boyfriend is going to the Stanley Cup. His phone buzzes a few times and he checks to see that Horan and Malik have sent him a fantastic drunk selfie with the caption “yrrrr boiiiii goingggg to the CUP!!!!!” He smiles. 

He’s almost ready for bed when his phone lights up. Toothbrush in mouth, he answers with a muffled “H’lo?”  
“Babe! Hi, hi hi hi!”  
Louis spits out his toothpaste and grins. He loves the sound of Liam’s voice in any context, but him giggly and buzzing after a win is one of his favorite kinds.  
“Hey, having fun?”  
Liam erupts into a peel of laughter as Louis heads out of his bathroom and down the hall. If he could tape the sound, he would.  
“Yeah, like, a lot...Styles took us out and it’s...it’s been crazy.”  
“I’m so glad, you played so well,” Louis says as he climbs into bed. He clicks out the light and cuddles up, happy to fall asleep to his boyfriend’s voice.  
“Thanks,” Liam says, one step away from a gush. There’s a beat, then they say at the same time:  
“I miss you.”  
“Come stay with me.”  
Another beat, then:  
“What?”  
“Come stay with me,” Liam repeats, all in a rush. “The start of the series is at home, you can stay at my place and...and, when we go away you can stay in the hotel with me, or something.”  
“I - Liam, I just…”  
“I know, I know you’re so worried about being found out, but...we’d be together, which would be awesome, you know? Like...who knows if we’ll see each other in the offseason, and I…”  
Liam’s breathing a bit faster now, and Louis can picture him climbing the stairs in his apartment - never takes the elevator, ever, the donut - smelling like the bar and still a little buzzed from whatever microscopic amount of alcohol he allowed himself. Louis can picture him, so clearly, fumbling with his keys at the top of the stairs, cut of his jaw flecked with stubble and head ducked down while he confesses that all he really wants is Louis in his presence.  
“I’ll do it.”  
“What?”  
“I’ll come. I’ll be wherever. Whatever you want. I want to see you.”  
Louis doesn’t let himself say anything else, since God knows what else could come out of his mouth. He’s doing his best to keep the sap to the minimum.  
“Oh my God...Oh my God! Okay, I’ll call my assistant and set some things up and we’ll -”  
“Li, calm down, it’ll all be fine. I’ll just drive up tomorrow to meet you when you get back. That’ll be perfect.”  
“Okay.” Louis can practically hear him smile. 

The next morning, Louis wakes up to a text message with Liam’s assistant’s phone number and the information for when Liam’s flight lands.  
_I told her everything, you can trust her with your life._ is the caption underneath her contact info, but Louis still hesitates for a second. Is there any way to do this without the “hey, I’m your boss’ secret boyfriend” part? He stares at her number for another five minutes before finally calling.  
“Sophia?” he says as she answers.  
“This is. Is this Louis?”  
Louis flinches at the sound of his own name, already worried what company she’s in.  
“Yes, it is.”  
“Great, so here’s how this is going to work -”  
She walks him through the logistics - he’ll train into the city and be picked up by a car, then driven into the private parking garage of Liam’s building where she’ll retrieve him and bring him up to Liam’s apartment - but he does his best to focus on the important part: He gets to see Liam. Like, today. It keeps him on edge and shaky the entire train ride to New York, as well as when he searches for the car at the station and all the way into the back seat. The driver doesn’t even acknowledge him, just starts driving through Manhattan. Louis curls into himself in the back, randomly opening and closing apps on his phone. He texted Malik and Horan this morning telling them where he’d be and they, independently, developed a backup plan in case he’s spotted - they’ll immediately catch a flight and be there with him, post a bunch of selfies and angle it as a lads outing. Louis tried to beg them off, saying that wouldn’t be necessary, but they insisted. As Horan said: “mate we’d come up there now but lord knows we’d hear u and payne doin it all the way across town.”  
Louis blushes at just the memory. It’s strange, friends being aware of his sex life and being able to joke about it. Plus, you know, willing to hop on last-minute flights to keep it a secret. That’s pretty strange no matter how you look at it.  
The driver approaches Liam’s apartment and Louis is a live wire. As they pull into the parking garage, he sees a tall brunette in stilettos standing by the stairs. He ambles out of the car - beanie and sunglasses on - to stand in front of her. She takes him in, smiles and says, “So glad to see you. Right this way.”  
They walk in silence into the elevator and watch the doors close before she turns to him. A switch seems to flip in her.  
“I am _so_ excited to see you. Liam talks about you all the time - I’m so glad to finally put a name to the face.”  
Louis swallows. This is not what he was expecting.  
“A-all the time?”  
“Oh my gosh, don’t give me that look.” She flashes neon-white teeth at him. “You know what I mean - I had no idea who you were until a few weeks ago. Always knew he was in a relationship with someone, but didn’t know why all the secrecy. Now, well…” She turns back to the front of the elevator as the floors flash past them. “I see why it’s worth it.”  
Louis bites his lip but doesn’t let himself try to speak.  
They reach the penthouse and she lets him out first, leading him down a short hallway and to a door. She unlocks it, pauses and leans up to kiss him on the cheek.  
“He’s...so happy when he’s with you,” she says in a whisper. “Please keep it that way.”  
All Louis can do is nod.  
With that, she turns on a heel and leaves. Louis turns the knob and walks into Liam’s spotless apartment. He’s only been over a handful of times - they usually preferred Louis’ place, farther from the hustle and bustle of New York. But, it’s something about Liam’s apartment - beautiful river views, a few more bedrooms than Louis’, a massive (and wholly unnessary) fireplace - makes Louis feel like he’s stepping into a second home. He leisurely makes his way back to the bedroom and leaps back when he sees Liam’s bed. With Liam sitting at the end of it.  
The idiot just looks up and smiles.  
“Flight landed early. Lucky you, huh?”  
It’s as if Louis doesn’t process the intervening seconds, since the next thing he knows he’s in Liam’s lap, smelling his cologne, kissing his face, pulling at the little hairs at the base of his neck. It’s all Liam, always, and he doesn’t ever want it to change.  
Liam pauses for a second, attempting to catch his breath. “I know I’m supposed to be, like, romantic or something right now, but-”  
Louis giggles and buries his face in Liam’s shoulder. “But?”  
“But...let’s fuck.” 

Ten minutes later, Louis is spread out on five blankets in front of the fireplace - after a short but determined argument over location - and Liam is fingering him open so slow he could cry.  
“Look, I know you - ahh, fuck - I know you enjoy this and all, but could you just -”  
“Patience is a virtue, Tommo.” Liam glances up at him and gives his hipbone a bite while he crooks his fingers. Louis groans and writhes a bit on the blankets, caught in that terrible in-between of annoyance and fondness.  
“I’m good I’m good I’m gooooood, can you please just get on with it?”  
“Oh, how you woo me with your words…” Liam scoffs but still grins. He puts on a condom on and adds even more lube before turning back to Louis, who is doing a very bad job of looking sexy while also flopped on the floor.  
Suddenly tender, Liam strokes the side of Louis’ face, putting them nose to nose.  
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Liam whispers, eyes blinking shut for a second longer than normal.  
Louis can’t speak - which, honestly, is probably for the best, considering he’d probably yell “GAY!” or “No homo!” Instead, he just kisses Liam as hard as he can and hopes that conveys all his ooey-gooey actual inner feelings.  
As Liam lines up and pushes in, Louis lays back, completely overwhelmed, even as Liam covers up the rest of his body with his own, kissing every curve of his collarbones, neck and chest.  
“God, you’re so - fuck - “ Liam manages between kisses, hovering just an inch over Louis. Louis weakly runs a hand over all of Liam’s muscle - hard as a rock where Louis is just...light. He loves it. Loves being here, now, with all of Liam’s attention on him. It’s maddening.  
After a few more pushes, Liam refocuses on Louis’ face, pressing a kiss into the cut of his cheekbone. His hand slides up to grib Louis’ wrist and Louis shivers.  
“Is this still okay?”  
“Yes,” Louis breathes, holding himself back from saying, “Yes, please, fuck, oh God, yes, never, ever stop you unbelieveable goon.”  
Still as careful as ever, Liam rests his weight back on his elbows and pins Louis’ arms with his forearms. Even though Louis knows Liam would let him go in a heartbeat, he struggles a bit against the weight and gasps.  
Liam’s face is buried in his shoulder, but he murmurs, “Feel good?”  
Louis can’t form words anymore, so he just nods.  
“Good,” Liam says, and Louis can feel the hitch in Liam’s chest as he almost stumbles over the next words. “Now don’t come until after me.”  
Somehow, that almost makes Louis come on the spot. Instead, he grits his teeth, nods and lets out a breath.  
“Okay.”  
With that, Liam takes off like a shot, resting his forehead against Louis’ and pounding into him, whining at every loss of contact. Louis pushes back against his forearms, reveling at how little he can move him, in awe of Liam’s strength, even after all this time. Liam doesn’t ever move to touch him and Louis whimpers, trying to curl into himself and he can’t even do that and that makes him even harder somehow, gasping for air as Liam tweak his nipple.  
“Almost there, babe, almost,” Liam breathes and Louis feels like he’s on fire.  
With one, two, three thrusts, Liam comes, letting out a breath into Louis’s neck. Before he can even shift, Louis’ following him, coming untouched with a gasp. They breathe in tandem for a few minutes, while Liam strokes every inch of Louis, whispering, “You’re so good, you’re amazing, oh my God…” Louis smiles, runs his hand through Liam’s hair and mutters back, “Let’s go to bed.” 

The next two days pass without much happening. That is, much happening beyond Liam’s cavernous bedroom. Of course, Liam has to leave for team meetings and film prep and press, but between that, he’s in Louis’ arms. And Louis - well, Louis takes full advantage of Liam’s endless supply of cereal and tea, as well as a tricked-out sports package on television. Under the surface, something bubbles, that constant, ever-existant pressure of _Liam plays in the Stanley Cup final tomorrow, Liam plays in the Stanley Cup final tomorrow_ but they both ignore it. Or, at least, try to ignore it.  
The last night before, Liam cooks Louis dinner, which Louis immediately realizes is backwards, but Liam forces him into a chair and feeds him a glass of wine before he can put up much of a fight.  
“How’s steak sound?” Liam says from the kitchen as Louis twirls his glass.  
“Amazing,” Louis says. He’s doing his best to not bring up the game tomorrow, but when your whole life is talking hockey, it’s weird to suddenly ignore it.  
Once the steak is cooking off in the oven, Liam returns, giving Louis a passing kiss on the head as he sits down.  
“So we should probably discuss logistics for tomorrow - getting you in and out of the stadium will be tricky…”  
Louis hides a smile as he sips his wine. Liam is literally playing one of the biggest games of his career tomorrow, but getting his boyfriend into the stadium is what’s “tricky.” But, he’s been thinking about this all day, and he’s not sure how he’s going to say it.  
“Look, Liam...I don’t know if me coming tomorrow is the best idea.”  
Liam has always worn every emotion on his face, but he does his best to school it into neutral as Louis continues to speak.  
“It’s just...I would hate for me to be found out and for that to overshadow anything. I don’t want you to be at all worried about me when you...you have so much more important things to be thinking about.”  
Liam purses his lips, staring at the center of the table.  
“I mean, I’ll be here and waiting for you when you get home, and I’ll be able to watch the whole thing on you obnoxious TV…” Louis waits for Liam to laugh, and he doesn’t. “I know you’re upset…”  
“I’m not upset.” Liam looks up, and his face is still unreadable. A rarity, in Liam’s book.  
“Okay...what are you?”  
“I...I don’t know. I feel like I dragged you up here, and now…”  
Louis puts down his drink, a little too forcefully and it sloshes. Thank God Liam doesn’t have a tablecloth.  
“No! No, Leem, not at all. I love being here. I just don’t want…I don’t want anything to go wrong, when this should be your big moment.”  
A flicker of a smile crosses Liam’s face.  
“Okay. But...what are you going to cook?”  
Louis rolls his eyes. That’s his Liam.  
“Hush, I’ll make do. Your kitchen is smaller than mine, though.”  
Liam cuffs him from across the table, and goes to check on the steak. Louis does his best to not think about how lucky he is. If he does, he might explode. 

With all of the preparation, with Louis shipping up to New York, with the bustle around the city, he thought he was completely prepared for the first game.  
He was...very wrong.  
The city is electric, even from the top floor of Liam’s ridiculous apartment. Unlike Louis, he lives right downtown, practically overlooking the arena. Louis does his best to pretend this is just another night and curls up in sweats and one of Liam’s hoodies, drinking a cup of tea. He sends Liam off with a too-long (meaning: too-short) kiss, hand fisted in Liam’s crisp suit.  
“You’re amazing. You’re going to absolutely smash it,” Louis whispers against Liam’s lips.  
Liam kisses him again.  
“I’m so glad you’re here. I’ll try not to be nervous, knowing you’re watching.”  
Louis barks out a nervous laugh.  
“Liam, I’ve watched every game you’ve played in for the last _year_ , why would you be nervous now?”  
“I dunno, I’m actually conscious of it!”  
Louis rolls his eyes, and steals himself another kiss.  
“Go, you’ll be late. I’ll be here when you get home.”  
“Yeah, you will.”  
Liam gathers him up in a hug, lifting him off the ground by a few inches - which, Louis staunchly does not focus on the fact that Liam can lift him up, he really, really doesn’t - and spinning them in a circle.  
“You know what that means,” he continues, setting Louis down and leaning in close. “Victory sex!” he says in a sing-song voice. Louis laughs again, curling back into him.  
“Go, please, just go before I lock you here.”  
Liam kisses him one last time on the forehead, grabs his bag and glances back one last time before heading out the door.  
Louis grabs his cup and settles up next to the window, watching the bustling crowd below. Even hours before gametime, the crowd of people in jerseys has grown to an alarming amount. Louis definitely doesn’t start counting the incredible number of PAYNE’s he sees wading through the crowd.  
Is it weird he gets almost as big a surge of pride seeing that name on the back of jerseys as his own? Whatever.

A few hours later, Louis is planted in front of the massive television in Liam’s living room, pretending he’s fine. Horan and Malik have already texted in their support (along with plenty of R-rated jokes about not hearing from Louis for the last two days), Sophia called him about twenty minutes ago seeing if he needed anything and Liam has been sending an almost comical amount of updates. (Eventually Louis told him he’d drive down to the arena just to turn his phone off, and then he eased up.)  
All the way until the puck drops, Louis keeps wondering if he should be there. It’s the weirdest mix of right and wrong, sitting on Liam’s couch, eating Liam’s cocoa puffs, wearing Liam’s hoodie, but not being there to support him. Then, the camera pans to show the sheer amount of photographers hustling around the stadium, and he feels a little more secure in his seat.  
All of the buildup is nothing compared to the actual game. If Louis thought his heart lived in his throat through the last few series, it’s nothing compared to this. Liam is impeccable, as always, but Louis has never seen the team so well-matched. It’s obviously everyone has been studying tape - even the few of Liam’s signature moves that Louis has learned to track aren’t cutting the other team the way they should. Louis shuffles from the couch to the chair to behind the couch to pacing right in front of the TV, shouting at the screen. After a period and a half, it’s still scoreless, until Styles snaps up a brilliant pass from Liam and takes it all the way to the net - literally. With a crash, he collides with both goalie and net. Louis, mouth full of cocoa puffs, screams and launches himself back over the couch. There’s a manic few minutes of confusion while they head to the booth for review, and Louis checks his phone to see several incoming texts from Malik and Horan, including a video of the bar’s reaction to the calls. Louis buries his head in the sofa and doesn’t emerge until he hears the commentator’s confident voice ring through the room.  
“And they’re going to call it good for the Rangers! My God, does Harry Styles have spunk!”  
“Yes!” Louis breathes, popping up to see Liam skating across the ice to give Styles a hug. “Yes yes yes!”  
He doesn’t let go of the cushions for the rest of the game, only letting out mild squeaks whenever the team is forced into the defensive zone. Since the Styles goal, the whole game gets a bit chippier - everyone chirps a bit more, checks hit harder and there’s no more smiling on the bench. Liam can handle himself, Louis knows that, but that doesn’t stop him from letting out little growls whenever a defenseman gets a little too grabby with Liam as he heads down the ice.  
As they hurtle toward the last five minutes, everything reaches a bit of a peak.  
“And these teams really are just giving it all they got,” says the announcer, thudding through Liam’s speaker system. “Folks, I can’t really tell what they’re saying to each other but it’s not compliments, I can tell you that much…”  
Liam is, as always, inpenetrable. Louis gets hotheaded on the ice, he knows that, but Liam can somehow maintain his cool. Even when some fucking DIPSHIT decides to deck him for absolutely no reason.  
“Bullshit!” Louis yells across the room, almost spilling his beer.  
“I would call that an out-of-line hit, John,” trills the announcer. “And it seems Payne’s team isn’t too happy about that either! You can hear the fans voicing their feelings, too!”  
Sure enough, boos fill the stadium. _It’s fine_ , Louis thinks. _Only four more minutes, you can hold on for four more minutes…_  
He still doesn’t ungrit his teeth until the buzzer sounds. As the talking heads start dissecting the last great plays, Louis slumps against the back of the couch. One game down. An amazing game. An amazing game that Liam won. Fuckin’ huzzah. Two seconds later, his phone rings.  
“Did he bring the Paaaaayne, or what?”! It’s Horan, and Malik, though Horan seems a bit more lit.  
“Haha, he sure did,” Louis says, grabbing his beer again.  
“Seriously man, he played incredible,” says Malik, grabbing the phone as Horan protests in the background. “How’s the arena?”  
“I actually decided to stay home for this one…”  
“Really? You’re staying at Liam’s?”  
“Yeah...I dunno, it wasn’t worth the risk.”  
Malik breathes out, and Louis can hear the hum of the party in the background.  
“It’s your choice, man, but I bet he’d really love for you to be there in person. Do you want us to come up? Make it look a little more natural?”  
Louis bites his lip. Truth is, he’d love that - newspapers couldn’t guess at anything if it was three Bruins watching Game 2. That made sense. But, he wasn’t about to make them hustle up there, just to cover for him.  
“It wouldn’t be a stretch, you know. I’m sure we could get a box after a couple calls.”  
It’s as if Malik reads his mind sometimes, he swears. Mark of a good defenseman pair, or something.  
“I mean…”  
“Cool, I’ll make the call tonight, we’ll see you tomorrow! Have fun getting laid tonight, byeeeee!”  
And with a click, he’s gone.  
Louis flops back on the chair, closes his eyes and smiles. 

An hour or two later, Liam stumbles through the door and Louis almost tackles him with excitement.  
“You played amazing! You did so well! Holy shit, I was ready to kill that guy in the last few minutes, but oh my God you did it!”  
Liam leans into him and giggles.  
“Glad you’re excited, babe. Now, I need a soak…”  
“I know, I already drew a bath for you and I made some cupcakes - yeah, I know, your diet or whatever, but your coach won’t know about just one - plus, I already stocked the fridge for tonight - well, to be honest, Sophia did, but I helped -”  
Wordlessly, Liam gathers Louis up in his arms and squeezes. Hard.  
“Is this...thank you?” Louis squeaks. “Or are you trying to strangle me?”  
Liam giggles again and pulls back before running a hand through Louis’ hair.  
“It’s definitely a thank you. You’re incredible.”  
“The least I can do for my hunky hockey star!” Louis dashes up to kiss Liam’s nose before he can react. “Now, for the bath!”  
Liam throws himself around Louis’ retreating back and frog-marches them into the bathroom.  
Now, Louis isn’t always the most romantic or thoughtful person in the world, but he’s pretty proud of himself for this one. Lily petals litter the floor and several candles are lit, clustered in the corner of the bath. He already filled the tub and added some salts, as well as two glasses of red wine balanced on the edge. Twinkly music fills the room, and Liam...well, Liam hasn’t said anything. With a hanging jaw and wide eyes, Louis thinks he might be broken.  
“You like it, right?”  
This time, Liam doesn’t just giggle - he gaffaws.  
“Louis, how could I possibly _not like it?_ It’s amazing! You’re amazing. Now…” He pulls off his shirt and Louis can already see the bruises starting to form where he’s been hit. “Let’s actually relax.”

The next morning, Louis wakes up to his phone vibrating off the end table and hitting the floor with a crash. Liam is already gone - he woke up Louis with a kiss on the forehead when he had to dash out for press - but Louis was hoping to get a few more hours sleep before the nonsense started. Well, that’s difficult when you have Horan and Malik as friends.  
“Broooooooo, we are here and we are ready to be an AMAZING cover for you!” Horan says as Louis answers with a groggy “hello?”  
“How are you already in New York? And how are you already drunk?”  
“First claaaaaaass, baby!” It’s Malik on the line now. “Emphasis on the ass. Woooo-eeee!”  
Louis rolls his eyes. They’ll be insufferable like this.  
“Okay, I’ll text you Liam’s address, but you have to be chill going in and out, okay? I don’t want us linked if we don’t have to be.”  
“You got it, dude. Suuuuper low key. The lowest key. Low,” says Horan.

Louis will give them that: They know how to travel in style. Well, low key style.  
They roll up to Liam’s front door with two grocery bags of alcohol, in button downs and sunglasses.  
“Yo man, no one recognized us on the way here! We’re golden!” trills Horan, kissing Louis on the side of the head as a greeting. “I can’t believe that!”  
Louis can. He doesn’t think anyone would recognize the two straight-laced Boston Bruins team members, dressed up in New York City buying...comically bad alcohol.  
“You guys know there will be drinks at the stadium, right?” asks Louis, inspecting all the vodka that he guesses couldn’t be worth more than ten dollars a bottle.  
“This is for the afterparty!” says Malik, already lighting up. He seems to have calmed down in the hour or two transition, but still has the chirpy glow about him.  
“You know you can’t throw an afterparty here. Also, open a window - Liam hates the smell of weed.”  
Horan and Malik both oooo at the mention of Liam’s name.  
“Look at you, trying to not piss your _boyfriend_ off! How adorable!” Horan says, shuffling the alcohol back over to the entrance. “And we know - we’re not dumb enough to have an afterparty here. We’ll rent a hotel room at some point. But until then!” He throws his arms out and does a lopsided twirl in the middle of Liam’s living room. “Let’s talk about _this_ , eh? Captain doesn’t do too poorly for himself, huh?”  
Louis rolls his eyes.  
“Guys, we’re all professional hockey players. You own a bar, for Christsakes.”  
“Yeah, but his bar doesn’t have a jacuzzi tub!” Malik’s voice rings in from the bathroom, where he’s gone to smoke.  
“You are both the worst,” Louis says, but can’t wipe the smile off his face.  
“Yes, absolutely we are,” Horan replies, slinging an arm around Louis’ shoulders. “And that is why I think we should do a round of shots. What do you say?”  
Louis shrugs, still smiling.  
“Good man. Malik! Alcohol!”

Louis does his absolute best to keep it together before the game - he’s seeing his boyfriend see live for the first time, after all - and, well...sort of succeeds. Malik and Horan are three sheets to the wind by the time they walk into the stadium, but Louis is too busy marveling at how _easy_ it is with them. Of course the three best friends from the Bruins are coming to see Game 2 at the Rangers! Of course they’ll have a box right on the blue line! Of course they’ll watch the game with rapt attention - they’re hockey players!  
The box was obviously reserved for other etcetera famous people who asked last minute for tickets, and Louis carefully scans the group. There’s a few other players, sure, and a couple random New York types. Malik and Horan grab seats and wave over the waitress to place their (ridiculous) orders.  
“Lou, what do you want?”  
Louis jumps at the sound of his name, then realizes he’s not here in a disguise or undercover - he’s supposed to be Louis from the Bruins. Well, he is Louis from the Bruins. He maybe needs to drink less.  
“I’ll just have a beer.”  
Malik and Horan boo and hiss, but it’s mostly for show. As the team comes out to the announcer screaming their praises, Horan leans in to stage-whisper.  
“So, how’s it feel to see him?”  
Louis blushes and tries to subtly cover it by leaning on his hand. He scans the group and finds Liam like a shot, leading the drill in the center.  
“It’s...good. It’s really good.”  
“I’m glad, bro,” Horan says, and slaps him on the back so hard Louis chokes on his beer. “This is gonna be so awesome!”  
It is. Louis can’t even add some kind of modifier to it - it’s just, awesome. Almost as good as playing in the game himself - well, he can’t really pull at that string, but he can imagine. Liam plays incredible, as always, and seeing it here, not through a blinking screen, without stupid TV commentary, is just so different. He wasn’t prepared for that.  
There’s an easy two goals in the beginning of the second period, and they head into the third in high spirits. By this time, Horan is very distracted talking to the waitress who has definitely only charged them for half of their extravagant bill, and Malik is beginning to look mopey since he hasn’t talked to Perrie all afternoon.  
“You guys have the hotel room sorted?” Louis asks, mostly just to make conversation.  
Malik nods, and checks his phone.  
“Has she not called, or?”  
“Nah man, we…” He runs a hand through his hair and talks a sizeable gulp of his drink. “We kind of got in a tiff right before I left.”  
Louis hesitates, then asks, “What about?”  
“This,” Malik says unhelpfully.  
“Uh, me?”  
“This...plan. She said something stupid about not letting anyone operate in secret, but…”  
Louis winces, not sure what’s about to come next.  
“She’s full of shit, mate. She has no idea what kind of pressure you’re under. Of course this is the only way, y’know? Dumb she can’t see that.”  
Louis blinks a few times. He wasn’t expecting that.  
“...Thanks, man. I mean, I’m sorry it caused a fight, but…”  
“Whatever. She’ll get over it. It’s something she just has to understand about my life, now. And yours.”  
Louis nods, and it hits him like a ton of bricks: This is his life now. Sneaking around, making sure no one recognizes him in the wrong city, never connecting him to a certain player. But, also...his life with his boyfriend. He super hot, babelicious hockey boyfriend that he can’t wait to get into bed tonight.  
Yeah, he really needs to cool it on the beer.  
As the Rangers take the ice for period three, Horan suddenly cheers, jumping up and down and slapping Malik to do the same. Louis joins in, just to make sure they don’t look totally crazy. The Rangers look up as they shuffle into place, a little bemused, and Louis can see Liam raise a glove. He’s not sure if that’s an acknowledgement or telling them to stop it. The in-arena cameras pan to them and Louis panics. It makes sense in the story, but what happens when he’s just been shown _cheering_ for the Rangers?  
Without another second, Horan pulls up his shirt to reveal a t-shirt underneath that reads _I <3 Harry Styles!_  
“I love you Harry!” Horan screams, and the entire crowd laughs. Styles, on ice, does a hilarious show of hiding his face and then reaching out a glove while Horan reaching out a hand.  
“What hams,” Malik says with a giggle.  
Louis almost has tears in his eyes, so busy giggling he almost does catch Liam looking right at him. And Horan’s plan makes complete sense. Louis knows they can’t wave directly to each other, but five seconds of uninterrupted eye contact was worth the whole bit. Louis smiles and, once the ref regains order, watches Liam win every faceoff in the third period. 

After the game - which finished out at a healthy 4 - 1 - Malik and Horan offer to walk Louis home, to at least give the impression they were leaving together. Standing in the entrance of Liam’s place, with the chance that Liam won’t be home for a few hours, Louis is suddenly lonely.  
“You guys are sure you have a place to stay?”  
“Oh, you bet,” Horan says with a mischievous grin. “That waitress has five roommates - _five_!”  
Malik and Louis exchange an eye roll, and as they hug goodbye Louis whispers, “Let me know if you need to come back here and crash.”  
Malik nods and Louis grabs Horan for a hug.  
“Use protection, you fucking idiot,”  
“Always! Always…except that one time in Ibiza. But after that, always!” Horan jokes, grabbing their bags of alcohol and sending him off with a wave.  
They’re both out the door before Louis can thank them for the intermission stunt. 

When Liam gets home that night, he’s almost glowing. Well, that’s until he spots Louis spread out on the bed naked, and then he definitely glowing. He trips practically ripping off his dress pants, and Louis laughs but then almost has the wind knocked out of him as Liam dives on top of him, attacking him with kisses.  
“I’ve been thinking of this ever since that look in the third,” Liam whispers, his hot breath tickling Louis’ ear.  
“Me too,” Louis whispers back, and yanks Liam into his arms. 

Game 3 means they need to travel. Liam sees Louis off in the morning, ready to ride out with the team. (Louis will follow behind with Sophia, hoping that no one puts together who she is, and what it means for him to be with her.)  
“I’ll see you there. You’re not coming to the game, right?” Liam asks, big blue eyes wide.  
“No,” Louis shakes his head. “We could pass it off last time, but I don’t think it makes sense for me to be seen there. I can’t have Horan and Malik travel again.”  
“I get it,” Liam says, sneaking a kiss on Louis’ temple. “It means just as much that you’re watching at home.”  
“I won’t be at home,” Louis says, teasing now. “I’ll be in _someone’s_ big fancy hotel room!”  
“Well you better not spill wine in that person’s bed…” Liam chides back, “because they might not forgive you this time!”  
“Okay, that was like, _months_ ago!” Louis squeaks, and Liam just laughs.  
“I know, you knucklehead. Now, c’mon, I gotta go.”  
Liam gives him another squeeze and waves goodbye as he picks up his bag. Sophia is standing just outside the door, purse and overnight bag sitting on her shoulder.  
“Let’s give him a ten-minute headstart,” she says, and Louis grits his teeth and nods at Liam’s retreating back.

While it was fine to openly party in New York, they have to be more careful here. There’s no reason for Louis to be in another part of the country following the playoffs, let alone wandering around the same hotel as the players. Sophia dashes out for some snacks and a bottle of wine, but doesn’t seem to know what to do with him as the game draws closer. She eventually kicks off her heels and sits on the opposite bed while the pregame plays on mute in the background.  
“What do you...usually do for games?” Louis asks, spreading some fake cheese on a Ritz cracker.  
“I watch,” she replies, looking a little puzzled.  
“Oh. I wasn’t sure if you…”  
“You think I would have taken this job if I didn’t love hockey?” She smiles at him, and grabs a cracker for herself.  
Louis blushes.  
“I...I dunno! I don’t even know how you met Liam.”  
She smiles and pans over to the sizzle reel they have going about some leading forward for the other team.  
“We grew up together, actually. He was always brilliant at hockey but I was never quite sure if he’d choose that for a career path. He was good at science, acting...you really couldn’t put your finger on where he’d go next.”  
Louis squirts some more cheese on a cracker. So, the exact opposite of his story, then.  
“But he couldn’t really let hockey go. Got some key scholarships in college, and, just when his career was about to take off, I had graduated with a degree in business. I was supposed to take some hotshot internship in D.C., but...well, he offered me this and it just made sense.”  
She glances back at Louis, who doesn’t really know what to do except to nod.  
“That’s...awesome. Really great.”  
She smiles again, a little knowingly.  
“It’s whatever, honestly. He’s a dream to work with. I see all the other assistants in the meetings who are just frantic, or have to worry about their guys running off and getting into trouble...not Liam. Well,” she laughs, “not until you.”  
“I don’t think I’m that much trouble,” Louis murmurs around his wineglass.  
“You’re not! Just goes to show what he’s about.”  
They pause, no other sound in the room besides the munching of crackers.  
“He really cares about you. It’s...kind of inspiring to see, you know?”  
Louis just shrugs at that. He and Liam are a lot of things, but he wouldn’t put inspiring on that list.  
“Well...just know that I’m inspired by it. You guys are great together.”  
Louis looks at her, says thank you, and unmutes the TV just in time for the puck to drop. 

Louis...doesn’t really want to remember the third game. It’s a blowout. An ugly one. 5 - 0, with the Rangers barely getting any opportunities. Louis has always been a bit of a cynical sports viewer, but even from inside the tricked-out hotel room, he’s not optimistic. Sophia does her best to stay upbeat, but even her encouragements and groans of fury at missed opportunities doesn’t do much.  
They lose. They lose in the most stuttering, awkward fashion. There’s no other way to say it.  
At the final buzzer, Sophia sighs and collects her shoes. She puts a hand on Louis’ shoulder.  
“It’s going to be fine. Let me know if you need anything - I’m just next door.”  
Louis nods, a little numb. She exits, quietly shutting the door behind her, and Louis allows himself a couple tears on Liam’s behalf. Sure, it’s just one loss in a series, but it didn’t even make sense. They just got...distracted. The other team is mouthy, for sure, and this is the first time Louis could see Liam getting bothered by it. As long as they can snap out of it for the next game, they’ll be fine. Really. 

When Liam finally gets back, it’s nothing like Louis thought it would be. He was expecting tears, or maybe even yelling, but Liam walks in and does pretty much nothing. Louis stays crosslegged in the middle of the bed, not sure what he should initiate. Liam just sets his bag down at the entrance, pulls off his shirt and leans against the wardrobe. There’s a purple bloom of a bruise starting on his shoulder where he was decked late in the second period.  
Louis slides off the bed and wraps himself around Liam’s middle.  
“It’s going to be okay. You still played so well, Lee.”  
He can feel Liam exhale - his whole body seems to shake. He twists carefully in Louis’ arms - as if _he’s_ the one who needs to be careful in this situation - and throws his arms around him. They both take a breath, again.  
Louis remembers the early days - back when he and Liam were just learning the in’s and out’s to each other, beyond body on body. The first time they had to deal with a loss was early on, because of course. You only get into this career if you’re good at losing. Now that Louis thinks, he’s not even sure who the loser was in the equation, just that the other gathered him up in his arms, and the world seemed to go quiet for just a minute.  
Liam snuffles into his hair and Louis squeezes a bit tighter, wishing he could wring all the shame and responsibility out of him. That’s what he’s come to realize is the difference in the way they lose: Louis loses selfishly, replays every mistake he’s made, brews on missed opportunities and what the team must be saying behind his back. Meanwhile, Liam loses generously, mourns on behalf of the whole team, thinks about the cosmic proportions of this singular L. Louis can’t really comprehend that, but he loves him just the same.  
“Bed?” Louis asks. Liam nods, quietly hitches Louis up by the back of his thighs, and carries them away. It’s only when they’re completely settled in bed, Liam wrapped around every inch of him, that Louis hears him whisper, “I really thought we could sweep this one, too.” Louis gives his arm another squeeze, and wills them both to sleep. 

The next morning, Liam leaves before dawn and Louis stares up at the ceiling. He’s never been in this position before. It’s so hard to support someone through winning and losing when you have absolutely no control on the outcome. Of course he wants Liam to win, of course he does - it practically bursts out of his chest every time he watches him play. But he doesn’t know what he can do besides curl up with Sophia on the bed and watch another game.  
This one starts aggressive - Louis can tell Liam was pumping everyone up in the locker room beforehand. After a quick goal (thanks Styles), they’re in high spirits. That one forward is still giving Liam trouble on every faceoff, but he’s doing well, just giving him as much physicality as he can before diving back at attempts on the net.  
Sophia and Louis watch with rapt attention, doing their best to not chug the other bottle of wine Sophia bought and maybe annihilating the crackers with too much enthusiasm. Soph can really yell, which Louis appreciates, and she lets them have it, especially the refs.  
“Suck my dick, you losers!” she shouts after a pretty bad call on high sticking. Louis does his best to not muffle his laugh.  
Then, in the early part of the second period, Liam gets a full-on breakaway from the shitbag forward and sprints down the ice. Louis and Sophia are barefoot, jumping on the bed, screaming for him to “GO GO GO GO GO!”  
He pauses, aims and pops it firmly over the goalie’s right shoulder. Brilliant.  
Louis and Sophia screech and hug. Their boy! He did it!  
The announcers applaud him as he skates a lap to boos from the home crowd.  
“They really got it back this time,” Sophia says, swigging from the bottle now.  
Fast-forward another period and Louis is a little tipsy off the wine, reclining and watching Liam skate circles around the other team. That is, until someone grabs the puck off a bad pass and puts it into the goal.  
“Damn,” Sophia hisses. “That’s bullshit.”  
It’s even more bullshit two minutes later, when it happens again. They’re tied now, and Louis’ brain can’t seem to keep up.  
“What’s...what’s happening? They were doing just fine a minute ago!”  
He and Sophia are now crouched on the edge of the bed, only a few feet from the TV screen. The remains of the crackers lie forgotten on the dresser.  
“I don’t know, Lou. I’m not excited for this one.” Sophia has taken her hair down, and her lipstick’s a bit smudged.  
It’s almost poetic when the opposing team, on their last possession, manages to flip it past the Rangers’ goalie. Not quite a buzzer-beater, but a heartbreak just the same.  
“Well, that’s playoff hockey, folks!” trills the announcer. “What an exciting one for -”  
Sophia turns it off midsentence.  
“That’s...horseshit,” she says, prim business voice back, but with a colorful vocabulary. “I’m going back to my room to scream into a pillow. Do you need anything?”  
Louis’ mouth forms a smile at the joke, but can’t put any actual emotion behind it.  
“No, I’m okay. I’ll just wait for the grump to get home, I guess.”  
She purses her lips and nods.  
“Good luck, babe. Hope you can cheer him up.”

The problem is, that night, Liam doesn’t come home. Louis spends the first half hour deciding that he’s held up in the locker room, busy doing press, caught up with teammates - even though he knows that’s all bullshit.  
Louis then spends the next half hour tearing apart the ritzy hotel kitchen, seeing if there’s anything he can cook. There isn’t. Stupid fancy hotels and their utter disregard for their stress-cooking inhabitants.  
Louis spends the next five minutes deciding that Liam hates him, has decided to leave him and will probably out them by next morning. After a quick cry, he decides he’s an idiot.  
Then, well...then, he panics.  
Sophia answers on the first ring.  
“Darling, I know you’re scared - he’s not handling this very well, and usually he’s very good at handling things, so I’m a bit out of my element, too,” she says, all in a rush. Louis stifles a hiccup. “He asked me to book him a different hotel for the night, said that he didn’t want you seeing him like this. He knew you’d be upset and says he’s sorry and you’ll talk about it...soon.”  
Louis nods, then remembers she can’t see him.  
“Okay.”  
“I swear he’ll come round, babe. Hang in there, and I’ll call you tomorrow with the plan.”  
Louis thanks her and hangs up. He goes straight to bed, suddenly so tired he could cry again. He finds an old shirt of Liam’s hanging off the edge of the hamper - as messy as Liam ever gets - and throws it on, inhaling old cologne. Doing his best to keep even a glimmer of himself together, he curls up in the center of the giant bed and goes to sleep within minutes. 

He wakes with a start at the sound of the key in the lock. He grabs a pillow for ammo and tries to blink his eyes open. A minute later, Liam frames the doorway, hands up.  
“Shh, I’m sorry Lou, I’m so sorry, I just…”  
Louis breathes out a sigh of relief and flops back on the bed.  
“Get in here, you lug.”  
“Louis, I can’t believe what I did, I’m so stupid, I-”  
“Liam..”  
“I should never have just run off, I was just so angry and -”  
“Liam……”  
“I didn’t know what to do, so I was…”  
“LIAM!”  
Louis’ voice bounces off the high ceilings and Liam looks stunned.  
“Get in bed. You have a game tomorrow and I’ll be damned if you’re at all tired for it.”  
Liam opens his mouth, then closes it. Then, he quietly climbs into bed and suctions himself to Louis, giving him one kiss beneath the ear before they both drift to sleep. 

After the scare from the night before, it’s unfortunate they have to travel again. Louis happens to leave before Liam this time - all orchestrated by Sophia - and doesn’t wake Liam up to say goodbye. He tells himself it’s all to make sure Liam gets as much sleep as possible - especially with the nonsense happening last night - but he knows that’s at least a half-lie. He’s angry Liam scared him like that, but he’s also angry Liam couldn’t just come home. Louis knows to give him space when he needs it - they’ve been together almost a year, for Christsakes. That stalls him, hand on his bag as he follows Sophia into the cab. He’s never thought of it in those terms. It’s always been “sleeping together for a year” or “doing whatever for a year,” but...yeah, that’s about right. Together. Like, a real thing.  
He shakes his head like a dog trying to rid its ears of water. _Don’t get sappy now, Tommo,_ he thinks. _Who knows what the big lug will pull next._

The big lug pulls...extreme apologies. So much so, it’s almost sickening. But also kind of adorable.  
Louis quiets him with kisses to the forehead and scratching behind his ear and constant murmurs of “it’s fine, it’s FINE, Payno…” but he’s not sure any of it gets throught. Eventually, after the millionth apology, Louis goes in.  
“Look, I don’t want you at all distracted by this,” he says, leaning back against the heels of his hands in the center of Liam’s giant bed. “We’re good, okay? We’re really, really good. I promise.”  
Liam nods, staring at his hands as if they might suddenly spring to life and start fixing things.  
“I think...I think I want to come to the game tonight. Is that okay?”  
Liam glances up, eyes panicky.  
“You - you don’t have to. It’s totally fine to stay back, I -”  
“No,” Louis says, quiet, gathering Liam’s face in his hands. “I really want to. We did it before. I’m sure I can come up with some Horan or Malik story if I need to, but for now...I just want to be there.”  
Liam smiles, kisses the hand that’s holding his cheek and nods.  
Louis figured it wouldn’t be a hard sell. 

The second time Louis enters the Rangers stadium is very different from the first. Sophia says if he’s too heavily disguised, it’ll look strange if he’s finally found out, so he does an awkward dance between fan and hockey player. He wears a snapback - a rarity for him - and a button down with jeans, but isn’t sure what else to do. He had even tried googling what other hockey players had worn to the previous finals games, but it was a weird mix of home team jerseys and suits, neither of which speak to him. Malik and Horan have already assured him they’ve created a beautiful tableau on Twitter about being too sick to go to the game, so Louis technically was “abandoned.”  
But, as Louis has his ticket scanned and heads up to the box, he knows that all of these precautions are pretty stupid. People will guess what they want to guess about. No one will ever know the truth, and that’s just fine with him.  
He takes his seat and orders a beer, hoping that no one in this box will try to bother him. He even thought about bringing along Sophia, but knew that would be too obvious. Lucky for him, no one seems to get past the box’s lounge to notice him sitting in the stadium seating.  
Liam takes the ice again, and Louis can feel his heart clench. To be tied up at Game 4 - that’s rough. Louis does his best not to think about how this might be the second-to-last game - for either team. _One score at a time_ he thinks, his mantra for when he’s on the ice. _One score at a time._

One score is...all they can manage, it seems. A rookie wing poked a goal in for the Ranger in the first period, the other team quickly answered with a midrange slapshot, and since, it’s been nothing but chaos. Louis almost misses the TV announcers just so he could keep track of what’s going on. Turnovers are happening before he can even get a handle on who has the puck, and no one can keep it in a zone for more than ten seconds. On top of all of that, the game is getting...aggressive. Hockey’s always aggressive - one of the many reason Louis loves it - but the way he sees it, the fights are just to lure sport-tourists in. The real game happens between them.  
But this round, tiffs are breaking out all over the ice at almost every whistle. Liam is always quick to disperse, to get his guys under control, but by period three, Louis can see it wearing on him.  
“Just play, you big idiots,” Louis hisses under his breath, taking a sip of his beer.  
It happens in the last five minutes in the game. There’s a scuffle between Liam and that asshole of a forward near the offensive net, and the goalie falls on it for a whistle. What happens next seems to be in slow motion. The forward gives Liam an after-whistle shove, and Liam does his best to skate away and ignore it. But then, the guy grabs his jersey, balling up the front in his fist. Liam still tries to tug away, looking for a ref to call this. Then, aided by the big screens, Louis can see the guy lean in close, say something to Liam, and suddenly Liam’s eyes change. It’s something Louis has never seen in Liam before, and doesn’t want to see ever again.  
The next part happens in fast-forward. Liam yanks his arm back, drops his glove and smashes the guy with a punch. He only needs one, and the forward falls, in front of his own net. Liam looks down at him, sniffs and starts skating toward the penalty box.  
A few seconds delayed, the crowd erupts. Louis can hear the group in the box murmuring to each other.  
“See, there are a few names that players just don’t like to be called in hockey,” says one man standing at the bar. “And I bet that guy touched a nerve.”  
Louis can’t pull his eyes away from Liam. He waits patiently by the penalty box for the ref to give him a five-minute major, and then clambers in. His face is unreadable.  
Louis, on the other hand, can’t make his face stop showing every emotion.  
“Five minutes? For a fucking punch?” he says to himself, and a couple people in the seats around him giggle at his comment. “I can’t fucking believe it. What the hell, Payne?”  
He glares down at Liam, and, somehow, Liam meets his eye. And then Louis knows exactly what he’s been called. And why he reacted the way he did. He takes a deep breath and hazards a smile, but Liam has already looked away.  
Three minutes into the penalty, the other team scores and Liam can take back the ice, but even with every bit of skating he has left, it’s not enough for another goal. The game ends, 2 - 1.  
Louis stays in his seat as everyone else files out. If Liam didn’t want to stay in the same room as Louis after a regular loss - not that any of these could could as “regular” - he can only imagine what tonight will be like when Liam will blame the entire loss on himself. He slowly finishes his beer, watching the rest of the fans collect their stuff and head for the exits. He’s not sure what to do.  
Almost on cue, Sophia rings.  
“Hey doll, what a rough one, right? Anyway, I’ve already heard from Liam, he has two or three press things to take care of and he’s going to head right home - not even shower or anything.”  
Louis murmurs a yes.  
“And...and he told me he really wants to see you. If you want to see him, that is.”  
“Of course I want to see him!” Louis almost shouts, standing up and tossing his cup down.  
“His words, babe, his words…” Sophia trills. “Anyway, I’ll be around by entrance 3 with the car if you can meet me in a few minutes. Call me if you get lost!”  
Louis rolls his eyes and hangs up the phone.

Twenty minutes later, Louis steps inside Liam’s apartment and sighs. He has no idea what he could possibly tell Liam tonight to make him feel better. “It’s not your fault”? Well, it is, technically. “You did the right thing”? Did he? Louis isn’t sure. It’s definitely what Louis would have done - Louis would have pounded the guy into the ground and then some. But Liam...Liam isn’t the type to get fired up by that stuff. Or, at least, seems like he isn’t the type.  
Louis toes off his shoes and changes into a pair of Liam’s sweats. He makes himself a cup of tea and puts the cooking channel on. He misses cooking during games so much - loved how it anchored him in those early weeks together. He watches Giada De Laurentiis dismantle a chicken and wishes he had something to do with his hands while he waited.  
Ten minutes into what turns out to be chicken stew, Liam arrives. Sophia was right - he didn’t want to shower, and smells like it. He’s still wearing his undershirt and a pair of tattered sweats, holding his game suit in a garment bag.  
He and Louis look each other up and down.  
“I’m...going to shower,” Liam says, dropping his bag at his feet.  
Louis’ mouth opens, but he can’t bring himself to ask if he can join. Besides, Liam is already heading to the bathroom.  
After Giada has finally had the stew simmer, Louis wonders if he should go investigate. On tiptoes, he walks into the ginormous bathroom to see Liam resting his forehead against the tile of the shower wall, letting the stream of water soak him.  
Wordlessly, he strips out of the borrowed clothes and lets himself in. He puts a hand on Liam and Liam jumps a little, but then doesn’t move. Louis wraps himself around his back and mutters, “Is this okay?”  
Liam nods.  
“Okay.”  
They stand like that for a few minutes, Louis giving occasional squeezes. After a while, Louis can’t help himself.  
“He called you what I think he called you, right?”  
Liam nods again.  
“Well, then he’s a fucking -”  
“He’s ignorant,” Liam croaks. “He’s ignorant and hateful, and I can’t believe the league is still full of people like him.”  
Louis bites his tongue. “Hateful” would be a great way to describe the stream of obscenities Louis was about to unleash, but that’s fine. Instead, he just nods along.  
“I just...I don’t even want to play with people like that. But I know I have to.”  
“For two more games,” Louis adds, now snuggling under Liam’s arm so he’s in front of him. “You have two more games to show that guy what an idiot he is. And to come back to me and we can fuck in his honor.”  
Liam bursts out laughing at that, and grabs Louis into another bone-crunching hug.  
“You’re gross.”  
“I’m gross and _hilarious_ , thank you.”  
Liam kisses his soaking hair and reaches for the shampoo.  
“I need a good scrub. You up for it?”  
“Payno, please - you know I know where all your ticklish bits are, right?”  
Louis doesn’t let him frown for the rest of the night. 

The morning after is tense, and Louis doesn’t know how to make it better. Not to add that he has some bad news.  
“I think...I think I’m going to stay back at your place for this one,” he says as Liam paces around his bedroom, figuring out what to pack. Louis was expecting rage, or maybe tears, but Liam just looks up and nods.  
“I expected that. I think it’s probably a good idea.”  
Louis mouth drops a little.  
“You...do? For sure?”  
“Yeah, of course.” Liam slides onto the bed and grabs Louis’ hand. “If we lose, you definitely won’t want to be around my sad ass -” Louis opens his mouth to protest, but Liam keeps talking. “And when we win, I can come right back here to you in the morning.”  
Louis smiles at the “when.” That’s his Liam.  
“Okay,” Louis says, scruffing his hand through Liam’s hair. “But you gotta promise to miss me.”  
“Babe, you know that’s not a question.”  
Louis preens while Liam gives him a lingering kiss and goes back to packing. He’s stupid lucky. Like, stupid. 

Unfortunately, due to logistics management and a bunch of other stupid business terms that Louis can’t understand, Sophia can’t stay back to watch the game with him. He spends maybe ten minutes pouting in Liam’s apartment, then realizes there’s a grocery down the street. By the time he realizes what he’s doing, it’s already in aisle five and is busy looking for pesto. He looks over his shoulder ever few minutes - he know how weird this could look if anyone wanted to put the pieces together - but, he’s stopped caring. Right now, he just wants pasta.  
An hour later, he’s back up in Liam’s apartment, watching the game with two pots on the stove and the volume all the way up. It almost feels like...home. His heart does this dumb flippy-floppy thing and he pushes that aside. He needs to make sure the garlic doesn’t burn.  
“And so, with a win-or-go-home mentality, the Rangers take the ice! This will be a great one, folks,” says the announcer, and Louis grips his spatula a little tighter.  
Mostly, Louis hates when the announcers are right. As he stirs his sauce, the Rangers seem as if they’re leveling up. It’s every cliche in the book, and Louis can’t believe it.  
“We are really seeing a different side of the Rangers today, Jim,” the voice rings through Liam’s apartment. “And Payne is definitely manning the ship!”  
Louis grins and watches as Liam deftly swerves around a defender to chip a shot at the goal. It bounces off the goalie’s chest but Styles is right there to poke it in.  
“And Rangers goal! What a start to this game!”  
Louis just giggles to himself. That’s his Liam.  
Later, Louis eats his bowl of pasta while sitting on Liam’s counter barefoot, smiling the whole time. The game winds down to a 4 - 2 win for the Rangers, Liam annihilating the competition so much, no one has time to talk about the fight the night before. The talking heads are dissecting his play so much, it seems like there wasn’t even another team playing.  
“Payne has just been incredible this season...I don’t know what his special sauce is, but I hope he keeps taking it!”  
Louis wishes he could record this for Liam - he knows it would earn him a loving eye roll. But for now, he just boxes up the leftovers and hopes that’ll do. 

The morning of Game 7, Louis wakes up to a bed full of Liam. He practically purrs and curls into him.  
“You played...so well, babe. So good,” Louis murmurs, and Liam just snuffles back.  
“I love you, but can we just not talk about hockey for one minute?”  
Louis stiffens, and then, on a two-second delay, so does Liam.  
“I...I, um, shit, I just…”  
Louis sits up, quickly cupping Liam’s cheeks.  
“I love you too. So much. I didn’t want to say anything cause I didn’t want to scare you. But I love you, holy shit do I love you. To the moon and back, you big, dumb idiot.”  
Liam throws his head back and laughs.  
“Well, this is one way to start a morning. Not gonna lie, I sort of thought first ‘I love yous’ would be a tad more romantic…”  
Louis giggles and burrows down back to Liam.  
“I mean, I could eat you out for a while, would that make this more romantic?”  
Liam just groans at that, and Louis has his answer. 

After the flurry of the morning, they’re left in the lurch of pre-game jitters. Sophia is prepped to pick Louis up right before the game, but Liam has almost a full day of press before that. Louis fidgets in the entrance while Liam finishes putting together his suit. Louis doesn’t know what encouragement to offer, or what he could possibly say to make Liam feel calm.  
But, actually, as Liam turns from the mirror to look at Louis, he is the picture of calm.  
“Why do you look so relaxed?” Louis asks, a little suspicious.  
“I dunno,” Liam says, wrapping his arm around Louis. “It’s nice knowing you’re here. And you will be here. And, whatever happens tonight, that you’ll keep being here. That is, until you run off with that jackass forward…”  
Louis giggles and snuggles against Liam’s broad chest.  
“Too jock for my taste. I like them rugged, yet refined.”  
Liam laughs at him, and sneaks a kiss on the crown of his head.  
“I love you.”  
“I love you, too.”  
“And I love saying I love you. And I love how you were too scared to say it first.”  
“Hey!” Louis squeaks, trying to pull away from Liam but Liam holds him fast. “I would have! I just didn’t want to distract you!”  
“Whatever lie you need to tell yourself, babe…” Liam teases, before letting go of Louis for real.  
“But seriously...thank you for dealing with all of this. I know it’s stressful. And I know it’s hard, after you guys go out…” Louis averts his eyes, but doesn’t make Liam stop. “I just want you to know I...really appreciate it. And no matter what happens, I won’t forget it. And I know I’ll get to repay the favor next season.”  
“Hey,” Louis counters, sidling back up to Liam. “You know with our luck, it’ll be our two teams in the finals.”  
Liam claps a hand over his eyes.  
“Don’t even say that. Don’t even think it!”  
Louis barks out a laugh and then gives Liam a shove.  
“You’ll be late. Go kill it. I’ll be right behind you.”  
Liam kisses him one last time.  
“I know.”

That night, as Louis enters the apartment, it feels different. The game ended almost an hour ago, but the city is still bustling on the horizon. The lights seem a bit brighter, the view seems to sparkle more - even his feet squeak a bit on the wood floor. He doesn’t really know what to do - he flicks on the rest of the lights, toes off his shoes and tosses his wallet on the kitchen counter. Does he cook? Does he clean? Does he strip and run into Liam’s bedroom? Nothing seems to make sense.  
He settles for making two cups of tea and sitting at the eat-in bar in the kitchen. After a few minutes, he puts on a playlist over the speakers, but can’t really decide on any song for more than a minute or so. After a while, he just turns it off and does his best to enjoy the silence. For now.  
A few minutes - or hours - later, he hears a key in the lock. He looks up to see Liam enter, set his bag down, and startle at Louis sitting there.  
“You scared...the crap out of me.”  
“Leem, you knew I’d be here.”  
“I know, but...still.”  
“Do you want tea?”  
“I’d love some, thanks.”  
Liam pulls off his coat and steps out of his shoes before accepting the cup from Louis.  
“This smells amazing, what is it?”  
“That new Earl Gray variety you buy. I think it tastes like ass, but…”  
Liam chuckles.  
Louis hesitates, wondering if they’re just going to live in this alternate reality forever.  
“You know, you played -”  
Liam shakes his head, then sips his tea.  
“Shh, let’s not talk about it. The season’s over. We have a glorious summer to not care about literally anything.”  
“Do you have something in mind?” Louis asks, playing into it now.  
“I mean, I was thinking somewhere warm. Maybe Florida.”  
“See, I was thinking something like...Michigan.”  
Liam’s brow furrows.  
“Michigan? What do you mean?”  
“That’s where you’re from, right? That’s uh… that’s where your mom lives?”  
Liam still looks completely confused, standing there in his game suit, holding the cup of tea Louis made. Louis could gather him up in his arms forever, never let him go.  
“I...I’d love to meet her, if you’d have me.”  
Liam blinks several times, but holds himself together.  
“Lou, that’s...I…”  
He sets his tea down and goes around to hug Louis, putting his entire weight on him, which he does whenever he forgets.  
“I would love that. She’ll love you.”  
“Hey, easy…” Louis says, doing his best to keep his voice level. “Who knows if I’ll like _her_?”  
Liam pulls back before saying, “Louis, she makes the best cup of tea in the world.”  
Louis shrugs.  
“I mean, I guess we’ll get along.” 

That night, long after Liam falls asleep, spread-eagled on his massive bed, Louis sneaks out to the living room. They always replay the game at 1 a.m., and he needs to rewatch this one. Tied until the final moments. A defender squeaking past Styles on a breakaway. A goal for the other team with two minutes to spare. The clock running out with another 2 - 1 loss.  
Putting it that way, it sounds depressing. It would be, if it wasn’t the best game of Liam’s career. The announcers agree, once Louis puts them on the lowest volume he can handle. They mark every block, every pass, every look that Liam does as next-level incredible.  
“Payne has just been on fire for the last two games of this series,” they note as Liam does some quick stick-work around the joke of a forward. “Even after that fight in Game 5, he has come back to prove why he is the captain of this team.”  
Louis watches in awe. He’s so in love, it seems to rattle his chest. He can’t believe he’s so lucky.  
“Louis, what are you doing?”  
Louis jumps so violently he falls off the couch.  
Liam, wrapped in his comforter, is standing over him, now bathed in the glow of the screen. He looks up at himself, stealing the puck away from a defender, then back at Louis. With a smile, he shakes his head.  
“You’re...ridiculous. And I love you.”  
Louis gives him a sheepish smile, and Liam joins him on the couch, snuffling into Louis’ thigh and back asleep in minutes. Louis runs a hand over and over through his curly hair. He gets both Liam’s - onscreen and in his bed - and he’s never felt more complete.

**Author's Note:**

> and that's all, folks! Thank you SO much if you read the entire thing, I can't tell you how much it means to me. I already have plans for a sequel (because I'm a maniac) and I'd love to hear your feedback!


End file.
